


In Name and In Deed

by Royalrastafariannaynays



Series: In Name and In Deed [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol as a Coping Mechanism, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Body Horror, Body Worship, Ceremonies, Character Death, Dissociation, Dragon Riders, Dragons, Festivals, Hurt/Comfort, I just really like dragons okay, M/M, Mind Control, Panic Attacks, Physical Disability, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Build, The Light is not a Christian based religion, ambiguous time period, depictions of war, implied amputation, some inspiration taken from world of warcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-05-22 13:14:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 148,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6080730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Royalrastafariannaynays/pseuds/Royalrastafariannaynays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Two brothers face off for the year title in the relay division, against the infamous Scourge sisters all the way from ALTERNIAAAA! Watch these athletes defy the ODDS and the WIND as Ruby and Gold stand up to Turquoise and Aquamarine in a STUNNING show on the beach at mid-afternoon!” </i><br/> <br/><i>Or so the poster had advertised.</i><br/><i>Yeah right. </i></p><p> <br/><b>OR:</b></p><p> The story of the recovery of one Karkat Vantas, Colonel of Her Majesty's forces, after losing close to a fifth of himself in the war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. EPISODE 1

“Two brothers face off for the year title in the relay division, against the infamous Scourge sisters all the way from ALTERNIAAAA! Watch these athletes defy the ODDS and the WIND as Ruby and Gold stand up to Turquoise and Aquamarine in a STUNNING show on the beach at mid-afternoon!”

Or so the poster had advertised.

Yeah right. But maybe this would help alleviate some monotony in your life.

You order some plum wine and a bowl of soup, with fresh bread on the side. It’s the same thing you’ve been ordering every night you’ve sat at this restaurant. The only real difference is that you’re here during the day this time. Different patrons, different atmosphere, and at this point of the day, different lighting. The seat isn’t in the sun, but it is rather bright outside. You try not to go into the village during the day, but your mother had said something about you going out and finding someone nice, maybe, dear, or at least having an afternoon to yourself? I don’t need help with any chores today, dear, and you’ve been carving on your cane for too long.

It’s a balcony seat that you sunk into about fifteen minutes ago, and Jane has to circle the corner of the wall to bring you what you ordered. Crocker’s restaurant is built into a tunnel that bisects the center pillar of a very old and solid bridge that spans the canyon that spears through the center of the village. It’s an old town with an old history, and apparently a thing for dragon races.

Two old women putter in and sit at the edge of the balcony, at the only available table left next to yours. They don’t give you a second glance, thankfully. The nice thing about the old folks in this town is that they don’t care about you or the fact that you’re new. The ones closer to your age do, though. And half the shop owners.

Even though most of the town is at the race grounds or standing atop the wall, the restaurant is still crowded. The old ladies are talking.

“The brothers are back, our own two boys are in town for this race!”

“Amazing that the race only started coming here when our boys got famous! Do you remember the first year we had it?”

“I do, I do. It was so much less crowded that year.”

Jane sets down your soup, bread, and wine, and smiles at the gold piece you press into her hand before going over to ask the women what they would like.

Wind sails right through the center of the restaurant, catching Jane’s bandana and sending it flying. You jump up to grasp it out of the air, leaning heavily on your crutch to extend your arm as far as it will go, and snatch the errant fabric. Jane laughs when you hop a little to the right and push it into her apron pocket next to the coins she carries around.

When you get back to sitting in your chair, you hear some distant cheering. From this spot you can see the banner of the start and finish line down on the beach, at the base and mouth of the canyon, and a positively massive crowd of people. Surely this town doesn’t have that many people. Is there a camp outside the town you didn’t notice? Probably. Lots of caravans, not enough inn space.

The beach… you never go to the beach. It’s too perilous for walking, for you. The sand looks warm, however.

There are some bright flickering ribbons on the beach, and they glisten, quite unlike the flag banners. After some blinking and a drink of your plum wine, you can tell it’s actually two long, glittering, twisting, scaley creatures. You haven’t seen an Eastern dragon before. The more local ones on the battlefield were either very small, for messengers, or they were behemoths, suited for the direst of combat and covered in heavy plate armor. The large ones usually didn’t have elemental breath weapons, which was nice. Mostly.

One of the ribbon-like creatures, a startling ruby-red color, peels off from its gold counterpart, and begins an ascent up the cliffside. It gives the homes and shops built into the cliff base and a few stories up a wide berth, and comes up along the side of the bridge. It moves lazily, slowly, and almost in slow-motion makes a magnificent pass near the balcony. The restaurant-goers, as well as the people atop the bridge, cheer loudly, and it’s only then that you notice the rider.

Clothed in black, with a bright yellow tunic and gold edges, the rider seems weightless in the air. He barely clings to the dragon’s back, loosely gripping its sides with about eight feet of cape trailing behind him in the air. The red fabric is in strips for all but the first foot, probably for show instead of function. The rider is wearing a black wind visor, custom tailored and probably dragon glass. You wonder if his mount breathes fire.

Another rider shoots past him, and the crowd revives their extinguished cheers as Western-breed, turquoise-colored reptile spins, and comes back for a loop around the lazily winding ruby serpent. This one has wings, something you’re more used to, and its rider has spikes on her helm and back that mirror the spines of the beast. You’ve heard that despite their lack of wings, Eastern dragon breeds are known for their versatility, due to how they fly by manipulating wind currents. It wouldn’t surprise you. The turquoise dragon’s rider points at the ruby rider, and the drake puffs out a short burst of flame before making a cackling noise and winding away, toward a giant post that you guess is the midway point of the race.

The ruby dragon’s racer pats the mane of his partner and maintains his course, calm and cool, but you can see him give the other racer a wave and a little quirk of the lip before his face disappears from view and he continues on the peaceful path. At the starting point, you can see the gold dragon perching lightly on the ground, and bumping heads with a cerulean drake, as two small figures shake hands next to them. Is that also the finish point? You never watched races either in your hometown or while you were on tour.

Not much else happens for the next ten minutes, and you return to your soup and bread. The bread is always excellent here, Jane having to have her bakers make some fresh multiple times a day, and it always being the perfect consistency.

Cannon fire announces the start of the race, and you are sent reeling.

Frozen for more than a minute, you have to relearn how to breathe. Smoke, fire, blood. A body separated from its legs by ten feet, soaking the grass. An army of rats taking into a corpse in a trench. The stench of death. A torch in your face, someone pulling a horse off of your prone body. One of your foot-soldiers.

The sunlight hurts in your eyes, and when one of the old women whistles loudly, you are brought back to the present. Before the battle calm settles back in, you take a few deep swigs of your wine. You’ve somehow missed the first five legs of the race entirely, and it’s on the final stretch around. The crowd is very loud. You pry your own fingers off of your aching left thigh, and force yourself to get back to being… natural in public.

The ruby dragon is in the lead, winding through a copse of trees atop the cliff, evading the turquoise. Skillfully the turquoise narrows its wings and jets through the trunks like an arrow, tearing after the ruby. The ruby dragon spirals down from the midway point, twists through the flags on the bottom of the bridge and comes out under the balcony, racing desperately toward the finish line. The crowd is going wild as the turquoise makes a few powerful strokes of its wings, catching up slowly but surely. The ruby dragon’s rider flattens himself to its back, and the dragon seems to speed up even more. The turquoise seems faster, and soon they’re neck and neck.

From where you are, it looks like the two dragons cross the finish line at the same time. The red and gold flag goes up, though, and a section of stands near the riverbank flies with colored banners. The ruby dragon’s rider easily dismounts, slaps the gold dragon’s rider’s shoulder, and is soon consumed by a mass of people.

 

 

The race is over, and you watch the fanfare dissipate. The crowd in the restaurant dwindles to next to nothing in under fifteen minutes, and your soup gets cold. You drink it as the sun begins a full descent behind the cliffs, and the canyon quiets and dims. You finish your bread, and ask Jane for some more. She gladly accepts your silver piece, this time, and brings you two small loaves and some gravy for dipping.

You stay to watch the moon rise. Since it’s the late spring, the perfect place to watch it rise is directly in front of you, in the mouth of the canyon. Jane lights the oil lamps and you think, as a sliver of moon appears over the horizon, you may have calmed down from that cannon fire earlier. Jane brings you warm wine, now, and a smaller cup. She’s used to you being here at night. You push another silver piece at her and she laughs and takes it. She learned a long time ago that she would not be able to dissuade you. You have entirely too much money anyway, and are too happy to watch Jane disappear with some of it as she goes to clean her kitchen.

A rustling piques your interest, and you look over to see if maybe it’s Jane again, closing early. Sometimes when she has a busy enough day, she will. But she always lets you stay until she’s ready to leave herself. You don’t expect it to be anyone else coming to the restaurant, and you definitely don’t expect it to be the rider of the ruby dragon from earlier.

He looks surprised to see another person here, and you can see that because his visor is off his head. In fact, he looks surprisingly casual, now in just brown pants and long red tunic, and what look like leather and wool slippers. Instead of the cape, he wears a gold stole with some intricate embroidery. Like a priest. Is he a priest? Dragon racing seems very frivolous for a man of the order.

Without the visor, he seems… both older and younger than you expected. About your age.

There’s a scuttling noise, and some thumps and scratching, before the great ruby dragon is suddenly taking up half of your view. Steam rises from its nostrils, and it makes a chattering noise at the rider, who is still staring at you. Almost sounds like the giggles of a young girl. It climbs completely over the railing, and avoids knocking into any tables before slipping its head under the rider’s left arm.

The way that it climbs is like its lizard relatives, feet taking diagonal holds and body winding over flat surfaces. It notices you through the line of the rider’s stare.

“Who are you?” is pumped directly into your mind. The feminine voice catches you off guard, and the dragon flicks her tail in the air. When you remain too shocked to answer, she obviously gets bored and moves onto circling the rider once, before taking his pat on the nose and slithering back over the side of the rail. You see her fly away not too much later.

The man is still staring at you, when you look back up. You look down again, tired of the confrontational gaze and used to people staring at you, and sip more of your wine. Jane brings out another, obviously warm, bottle and sets it down at a table not too close nearby.

“It’s not your usual table, Dave, but you’re going to get used to the disappointment,” she explains lightly, and then a napkin full of pastries is put down before you. You try to smile at her, and part of it is genuine because she brought at least one poppy seed scone, and you love poppy seed. She leaves after patting you on the shoulder.

“For the bandana catch earlier. Take one or two home to the Smith.”

“Will do,” you reply, and proceed to pick one up and break it in half.

When Jane leaves the balcony, it’s just you and this man you now know possesses a name. And thank the Light, that moniker business earlier was getting annoying. The man sits down with a rustle of cloth, and it’s silent on the balcony. You’re content to listen to the crickets, and the waves of the ocean beyond the canyon. It’s nice in this silence, and you don’t really want to talk.

Dave doesn’t follow the same set of rules that you do, apparently, and he talks to you after about fifteen minutes of slow sipping.

“You new around here? Just got back from a few months away and it’s not often we see new faces in this fine establishment,” he starts off, spectacularly throwing small talk at the quiet.

It’s kind of grating that he uses the royal “we” when referring to himself. It’s like he’s implying that you don’t belong here, and that you are not part of the town or the regular customers at this restaurant. You aren’t sure he doesn’t mean anything by it.

You grit your teeth, and listen to the waves a little more. The eight o’clock bell tolls, down in the town proper, from the small church.

“You gonna answer me?” He tries again.

Bristling, you bite back, “I don’t really know if I have to. But thanks for disrupting my evening.”

The man you now know as Dave is silent, and you wonder if he’ll stay that way. The moon is completely over the horizon now, rising fast at this time of night. It’s very peaceful coming here, but will it stay that way?

“It was just a question. Save the Light, you’re a piece of work,” Dave retorts at you, and you hear the light scrape of a chair moving on the stones.

“For your information, civilian,” you say, highlighting the last word as if you’re saying it with importance, “I moved here fairly recently. Was honorably dismissed from the queen’s troops.”

You gesture widely in the direction of what’s left of your leg, and take a moment to glance over at the man. He’s staring at your leg, now that you’ve given him what essentially qualifies as permission to ogle. He shuts up for a good long while, and you don’t bother shifting or frowning or anything to belie discomfort. Why would you, if you’re past discomfort at strange looks?

Jane bustles out, and you’re surprised that you didn’t notice the height of the moon. “Sorry, Colonel Vantas, have to be open by lunch tomorrow,” she says to you, and nods at Dave. He stands, having finished his own half bottle of wine. The rider is giving you a look as you stand and fetch your crutches from the corner. It’s a long way home, hoofing it. Unfortunately using the crutches is one of the only forms of exercise you get, so it’s gotten you back in some modicum of shape using them.

Jane takes the plates away and lets you get up. She takes the napkin of pastries to the back, so that she can put it in a bag for you to carry home. Dave puts his fingers to his mouth and makes a series of calls that sound like neither anything an animal nor human should be able to make. He climbs over the rail, and turns to you. “Colonel Vantas?”

You looked up at your name, back automatically straightening.

“You’re a civilian now, too, aren’t you?” He says, and you see a glistening stripe of red pass behind him before he winks and falls backward off the edge.

Jane comes back in, loose skirts ruffling in a hurried way before she frowns at the other man’s absence.

“Curses, that Dave Strider, never says goodbye and never pays for his food. By my ear if that boy isn’t back tomorrow I’ll tan his hide,” she mutters, before stuffing a parcel into your bag and gathering up the last of the dishes. Arms full, she looks at you.

“You know the drill, Karkat, sir,” she says, mock-official. It makes you grin just a little.

“That I do. See you tomorrow night.”

“Right you are.”

You hoist the crutches up and forward, and begin the journey up and onto the bridge. Mother will worry if you’re not home before she takes the pot off the fire for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **EDIT!**
> 
> now with a lil bit of Art by the lovely WanderingDragon, by request! You can see more of her work [here!](http://helpimalostandconfusedartist.tumblr.com/)  
> (redirects to tumblr)


	2. EPISODE 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat recalls part of his last battle for the sake of the audience, and Dave asks a question or two that he doesn't really want the answer for.

It was late winter when your leg was blown off. 

The snow was seven inches deep in your mother’s town.

You were twenty-six years old. 

She had run out onto the porch of a house you didn’t recognize. Your mother had stooped to her knees when she saw the somber looks, thinking you were dead. It wouldn’t have been that surprising. More than half of your command was dead, having been sent directly into the front line and encountered an ambush on a long, muddy field. There were arcane mines. Your horse was killed under you, and you were lucky to only lose a limb. The horse’s intestines had steamed on the ground, and on your prone body. They were hot.

 _You're bleeding a lot, so much you feel warm again after ten days of ice and rain. Since the explosion, it's been dark. Dark for a long while. You wait for the booming to stop. The mud has already clogged half of your nose. It’s choking you, and the blood is choking you, and maybe half your ribs feel broken. Poking your tongue out blearily, you find you aren't missing any teeth. The horse over you. You can’t breathe until they pull it off of you. Suddenly there's feeble light from the cloudy sky._

“My son, my baby boy,” mother had been crying. The other soldiers had had to unload you from the cart, and you'd been silent as they uncovered your very much alive face to dissuade her distress. She'd almost tripped in her haste to open the door so that they could bring you in. You couldn’t have moved, wrapped in two seal skins and a bear fur for the cold. The soldiers had left soon after, handing your mother some letters on their way out. Captor had been the last to exit after helping your mother remove the skins. 

His hands had been cold on your shoulders as he had held you up, and they hadn’t warmed any even as they lingered. Eventually he'd sighed, and left a couple hefty scrolls on your bedside table. Probably from the queen. Fuck the queen.

The queen couldn’t get rid of the fact that you still woke up sometimes, feeling a phantom ankle twitching in early morning jitters on your left side. The queen didn’t care to, either. Sometimes your left knee itched, even though you didn’t have one. 

Three days after you had gotten to the house, you had stayed awake long enough to read the letters. One had thanked you for your honorable service, and congratulated you on your sacrifice in that battle. The letter had said that thanks to your troops going into the ambush, the other battalions were able to sneak in from behind, and win the war. You had known it wasn’t over yet, and the war would have repercussions for years. That first letter also had highlighted that you would receive an annual stipend for your services, to be delivered by Captor, your then-second-in-command. This stipend would last you well more than it needed to. You had assumed that this was in exchange for you not revealing anything to anyone important about how your battalion was used as cannon fodder in that battle. 

The second letter had been a very flowery thanks from the crown princess herself. She had wished you well, and had said in a very cagey way that she was both protecting your name in court as well as keeping your location a secret.

For the first three weeks of being home, you hadn’t felt much of anything, and you'd healed. You had stared out of the window next to your bed a lot. You had eaten a lot of porridge and smoked meat. For the fourth week, you'd wished you were dead. At the second thaw of spring, you'd got up and used the crutches your mother had gotten made for you. 

You'd still wished you were dead.

The first time you had stood on your own, your mother gave you your father’s onyx dragon heart amulet. To be strong with. 

You had walked to the porch. She'd taught you how to darn socks. After a week of that, and patching clothes, she had started letting you help her around in the forge. Mostly you had just stoked the fire and dealt with customers, but it;d helped you regain some strength from months of doing next to nothing in travel and then being bedridden. Luckily muscle mass didn’t deplete very fast for you during the trip, as the healers had given you a spell to keep you strong in the times your healing needed it most. It lasted until you got home. 

The cottage was nice, with its three whole rooms and covered walkway to the shit house. It was good that your mother had gotten such a good place with your money, when you had convinced her to move. It was no secret that you were disliked in the army, with your status as a lowborn figurehead. But you made good money for it, then, very good money. So you wanted her safe from anyone who would hurt her. Definitely now with your status as the colonel that got a good deal of your troops killed.

Back in the present, you’re once again sitting on your mother’s porch, this time repairing one of her work aprons. You contemplate briefly going to the church, to pray. The praying would be more for ritualistic comfort than anything. And you love the singing of the priests, lovely and quiet. What use is praying, though, even to the Light, when it didn’t do much for you? 

The wind sings for you, through the tree leaves and the chimes on the porch. Last night was interesting. Meeting new people is always interesting, even though you hate it. 

A crash on the roof annihilates your concentration, and you drop the apron in your struggle to not fall out of your chair. You’d tried to shoot up into a ready stance, and overcompensated. When will you ever remember that you don’t have one of your fucking legs? Yes, you have part of a leg. But from the thigh down, there’s nothing where there should be something.

Brain running on red alert, you grip the hilt of your sharp dagger and ready yourself for whatever landed on the roof. Sweating, tense, heartbeat through the roof. It’s a fight or flight reaction, and you’ve never been one for running away. Not ever. There’s some noise just to the right of you, and the man known as Dave Strider steps around the side of the house. He looks ruffled, and is straightening his belt when he sees you. Surprised, Strider almost leaps back before regaining his “cool.” 

In this light, you notice that his eyes are red. Probably the magic from the dragon soul bond he has. Are the other rider’s eyes gold, or amber? You met a rider soldier with entirely black eyes, once. It was terrifying.

“Shit!” he exclaims, and his stole flutters in the light breeze. The embroidery catches the light, and you know that it’s ceremonial. You feel suddenly self-conscious of your dirty white shirt and plain tan breeches with all their holes. A cackle comes from somewhere in the air, and the dragon lands. It blinks at you as its feet touch the ground, the same way another human would nod or indicate your presence. Her eyes are black, and her ten-inch teeth are as well, as she flexes her square jaw. She turns once around Strider before nudging him along with her tail just behind his knees.

He trips a little at the push, and turns to glare at her. “Aradia! Chill, I know you just like Smith Vantas because she gives you charred sweetfish when you visit, but you need to stop bothering me about it. Go ask her.”

She clearly doesn’t like that answer, and tosses her whiskers, whipping him across the face, before slithering out of view.

Once she’s gone, though, he no longer as anything to do besides face you. Luckily he has more terrific conversation starters. He walks over and picks up the discarded sewing work, and drops it into your waiting hands. 

“So you’re Smith Vantas’s kid, huh? For an older lady she can really fucking pump the bellows.”

You contain your excitement at his choice of topic. 

It’s contained so hard that you go right back to fixing the apron. You wish you were less prone to tear holes in clothes, so maybe you could have something else to do when you get tired of too much moving around on crutches. Maybe you could work on your whittling skills some more. 

“If this is your way of telling me you think my mother is attractive, Strider,” you say, “For WHATEVER reason, save it. Go pawn your useless panderings off onto some other hapless fucking loser, and please get lost doing it.”

He laughs. It’s a bitter noise, and you wish sometimes that you were capable of being a nice person or putting on a good face for dealing with annoying people. It’s difficult since you joined the military, however. Bullshit is not tolerated from poor boys in the queen’s services. 

“Well, Vantas, at least I’m not turning into a taciturn old man at a young age,” he shoots back.

You sigh. So that’s how it’ll be. “I’ve heard more creative comebacks from a detached and rotting head of a boar, three days old and being picked eyes-first by a murder of crows.”

“Ouch.”

“The truth can be painful, sometimes.”

It’s at that moment that your mother decides to round the corner. A tall and stout woman, she has laugh lines in all the best places, and only wears pants. It comes from working with a lot of fire and sharp objects. The two of you have the same dark, tanned skin, and the same penchant for lecturing to get your point across. Hers is mostly justified, though. Fiery auburn hair as a contrast to yours, which is black, and callouses on every knuckle. 

When you used to stand straight, before going to war, she was only an inch or two shorter than you, always said you looked just like your father, and she was full of fire. She somehow managed to keep that, even when your father died in a previous war. She kept that fire even when she was full of fear moving across the countryside at your behest, and she kept it even when you came home a broken excuse for a human being. 

“Karkat! What are you hassling young mister Strider about? Gonna scare away my customers, you are.”

You’re cowed. Strider is gaping in a little amazement when you look up at him, and you give him your best withering glare. He gives you a bit of an out, and holds out something you hadn’t noticed he was carrying. 

“Smith Vantas, I need some stirrup repair,” he provides, and you can just hear the clicking of your mother’s tongue even before she does it. She turns the items in her hands a few times, tsking loudly. 

“What kind of village idiot repaired these the last time you got it done? One of them city folk?” She asks. 

“Yes ma’am,” he dutifully answers, and she makes a few more noises before waving him down into a chair. 

“You wait here, this won’t take long to fix. I’ll make you some new ones before you set out again, so have your brother bring me the schematic in the next few days.”

“Alright ma’am. Won’t be going out for a race circuit or two, we’re taking a break from it all to try and train some kids,” he easily answers while he sits. “Did you get Aradia her fish?”

“Yes I did, Dave. And I’m fitting her for some re-strapping, your saddle is getting loose around the front.”

“I’m surprised she’s sitting still for that.” To his benefit, he does sound surprised. 

“I gave her the rest of my sweetfish to munch on and she seemed content enough,” your mother says back. She glances at you once more, nods at the work in your hands, and then starts to walk away. “Sit, chat awhile. I’ll have this done in no time.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Strider agrees, and leans back in the chair. 

You watched the whole exchange with some interest, but are able to easily slip back into driving the curved needle through the leather. Those few words from your mother, and holding the small point is easy again. A few more stiches on the strap, and… done. You cut the thread. 

“Your name is Karkat.”

“Is that a question?” You hold the extra thread in your teeth while you examine your handiwork, and then tie the knot that will hold it in place. A little salt wax on the thread you just put in, and you can rub that bit in with your fingers. 

“Not really. I have something to call you now, though. Besides… what was it? Colonel Vantas?”

“I guess you do, Strider.”

“I know you know my first name.”

“And?”

“You should call me by that instead.”

“Why?” You drop the needle by accident. Not wanting to bend over right now, you take the time to stretch at the leather a bit while you’re amusing this prattling idiot. 

“It feels less formal. We’re officially townspeople together, that feels like it requires a level of familiarity. Especially since you apparently sit in my spot at Jane’s.”

“So that’s why you stared at me for about twenty minutes.”

“That, and the butt-fuck ugly scar,” he says with some humor, and you find yourself not being as offended as you could be.

“Thank you for reminding me that I have a crevasse bisecting my face from chin to brow. I always need a reminder, because how else would I know why people look at me oddly?” It’s getting easier in the conversation, humoring him. 

“How about you give ‘Dave’ a shot a few times, and see if you like it?” He requests, then, another change of subject. 

“I don’t know if I want you calling me by my first name, Strider.”

“Why not?” He asks. 

“It feels very familiar. I’m not used to it yet,” you say back. 

That’s the most about your inner thoughts that someone has managed to pry from you in a while, and you find yourself staring ahead at the flower field when the admittance takes you by belated surprise. Of course Strider is all too satisfied with himself about it. He tries for more information. Is he just good at reading people, or good at catching them off guard?

“So,” he begins, “How did you get the scar?”

“Which one?” You get purposefully avoidant.

“You know which one I’m talking about.”

“Should I answer you because you asked, or because I’m tired of answering questions that have the intellectual fortitude of a three-year old wondering what butterflies are?”

“Either one works.”

You contemplate. The scar is something you haven’t had to explain to anyone not our mother in quite a long time. Of course it’s a battle scar, but regular townsfolk tend to be too polite to just ask you about it. Thankfully. Strider has seen a lot of things, though. He’s been a lot of places, traveled, and has most likely seen more veterans than just you. 

“It was a dragon, actually,” you decide to tell him. The project in your lap has been done almost since the beginning of this conversation. You’ve never told a rider about your scar. You’re interested in his response. Not in a sick, fishing-for-shock kind of way. But because you’ve never told someone that had a connection to dragons. 

“Oh,” is his only response. Fuck. You kind of wanted to still talk to him, though. That was probably a bad choice of conversation for someone not already hardened by battle. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that combat scares civilians. Maybe that’s what happened there. It could also be the… dragon thing. 

“A tail spike, non-blunted, caught me in the face. I was lucky to have survived and dodged fairly well, or the healers would not have been able to save me. I could be even uglier.” Dave is still quiet, so you continue. You want to apologize, but it wouldn’t make sense. He was the one to bring it up. “She was a magnificent beast. Her name was...”

You don't remember what her rider screamed as the knight died. 

The memories bring back something gritty and extremely toxic in your chest, and you taste bile. A second or thirty to bring you out of your reverie, and Strider still hasn’t spoken. You’ll never tell him about that dragon. Or any of the others. The Battlefield is a place where he never needs to be. In memory or otherwise. 

It only takes you closing your eyes and inhaling the deep scent of the sea and the field of wildflowers before you’ve successfully removed yourself from that dark, bloody place.

You bend over to pick up the needle, again, and your father’s amulet slips out from under your shirt. Strider goes even more deathly quiet than before, and when he speaks next, his voice is more gentle and soft than it has any right to be.

“What happened to your dragon?” The question makes you freeze, and your eyes are glued to the ground. Weakly you reach up to slip the thing back under the fabric on your chest. No one usually mentions it to you, or at least no one usually sees the thing. 

“I never had a dragon,” you reply honestly, going for casual. You have no idea how to get through this interaction.

He’s stunned quiet for a minute, and when he replies it’s with poison in his tone. “So what? You stole that emblem from someone? Spoils from battle? Do you even deserve to wear it?!” He spits the word ‘spoils.’ “What the fuck are you doing with a high-ranking dragon rider’s emblem necklace if you never bonded? Does it belong to the rider of the dragon who scarred you?” 

Alright, so casual was wrong. Strider is boiling, and you’re beginning to mount an already unhealthy amount of vitriol just underneath the skin. When you speak next it’s the most venomous you can get without actually snarling. 

“It was my father’s.”

Strider sucks in a breath, and you don’t look back up at him. He inhales a few times like he’s going to say something, but in the end, says nothing, and you hear his leather slipper-clad footsteps as he walks away toward where your mother disappeared. Knuckles white in the apron, you try to figure out why it hurts so much that he’s walking away, when the two of you just met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Don't get too used to the frequent updates, I just had a spare moment and felt like posting up the next chapter before I go to work! Pay attention to the tags, and I'll add anything important as I go, because I don't want to expose any plot before it happens! Anyhoo, hope you all liked it, hope everyone has a good weekend, and let me know what you think in the comments if ya want!


	3. EPISODE 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat gets out of the house, and we're introduced to a couple more characters.

The next day, you choose to go into town. 

The day is quiet and only partly cloudy, and you’re crutching along at absolutely breakneck speed when one of the Maryams slows to a stop next to you. It’s the younger one. It puzzles you that she would be riding in a wagon toward the town just an hour or so after dawn. Away from the Lalonde estate? Is she a maid there? 

“I’m heading in, to the orphanage. Would you like a ride?” She asks, manner-of-factly. 

A mostly flat dirt road lays before you. Your scenery would be that road, and a long field of singing birds, whorls of knee-high green grass, and flowers. It would be much better appreciated on top of a vehicle, you think. It rained early this morning, and the depressions in the road are full of water for at least the next four hours. Mother would probably also like her supplies sooner than later, even though she had clearly said to take your time and enjoy the day. 

Nodding, you hop forward, and use your stump of a thigh to get a bit of a leg up on the wheel before using mainly your arms and good leg to hoist up into the seat. The back of the cart is full of covered rolls of fabric. Oh, so she had been making one of the missus Lalonde a new robe or dress. Perhaps they’d be having a party soon. Usually a good amount of the village is invited, so long as they meet dress standards. You had been invited to the last one, little more than a month after your arrival in the town. You hadn’t wanted to take out your uniform for it.

Kanaya flicks the reins once you’re situated, urging her horse into a lazy walk and then a slow trot. “So, Colonel.” 

“Yes?”

“What are you after in town today? Rather, where can I let you off, if it happens to coincide with my own path home?”

“I wanted to pick up some things for my mother, just some errands. Maybe stop by the bookshop and pick up some poetry,” you reply.

“Oh? Poetry, Colonel?”

“I do enjoy a good poem, when I’m feeling self-indulgent. And then there’s the fact that it gets incredibly boring sitting around when my mother doesn’t have anything for me to do.” 

Maryam chuckles, and pulls a tiny bit on the reins, letting the horse slow down. “You are always welcome to visit, if you desire unassuming company, Colonel,” she tells you. The two of you are reaching the path that will take you the side of the canyon. The Lalonde sisters and their mother are, fortunately, magic practicers, and help yearly to reinforce the path that winds a would-be precarious zig zag down the cliff face. 

Since you are in a wagon, you roll past the entrance to the path (for once) to wait at one of the three elevators. Yes, there are three elevators. Operated with a complicated system of mechanical failsafes to make them near impossible to topple or fall inside, they are cranked by the several strong elevator operator men on the ground. Usually you take the path, not wanting to cause anyone undue strain with your lameness. 

A door shudders open to allow Kanaya to carefully guide her horse in. The Lalondes had also come up with a nice spell to calm animals in the elevators. A totem attached to the inside of a box on the underside of the elevator is refreshed weekly. 

The book shop is directly across from the orphanage when you arrive at Maryam’s destination. She, at your agreement, leads the cart around to the back of the decently-sized property and lets a few of the older boys take care of the horse. The Maryam home for girls and boys is on the opposite end of the town from the beach, and is situated plumply right next to a small field. Half of this field is the horse paddock, and the other half is a place for the children to play. 

When you dismount from the cart, you find yourself glad that you accepted her offer. It’s gotten a little cloudy, and it feels like it’s going to rain this evening, if the ache in your leg is any indication. You shouldn’t waste too much time in the shop, then. 

Waving at Kanaya, and her sister Porrim from the door way with a baby in each arm, you cross the street and enter the shop. 

As soon as you go in, you’re assaulted with memories. The capital city’s library, smelling of old paper and ink and candle wax. The electric buzz of magic around some of the books. The scratch of quills as you passed a group of students murmuring quietly at a table. The singing echoing inside the library, coming from the Cathedral of Light just next door. The sound of bells, and dust motes fluttering in the air. The sound of a witch of some kind walking around, and the rattle of polished bone totems around her neck and a chain around her ankle. 

In the bookshop, you run your finger over the spine of a novel. Gold bands around the leather, and a number lingers near the base. At a word to the shop owner, you’re directed toward poetry. And just your luck, it’s on the top shelf. Well, if you can’t get a book here, at least you can pick up some extra paper and get it wrapped in wax for your mother. She never has enough paper. 

You make a grab for a thick tome that looks promising, though, and despite your height it’s just out of reach with the crutches. You don’t want to lose your balance and fall into the shelf. The door’s bells make a soft tinkling as the door is opened, and you take a breath before trying to reach again. While you’re stretching out your shoulder and trying to find better leverage on your crutch, you glance toward whoever came in. 

The bookshop owner is nodding at them, and you’re a little surprised at how familiar this man looks. Similar skin tone to Strider, same light hair, except not… wavy. Would you call Strider’s hair wavy? Curly, maybe. This man is also wearing an embroidered stole, but this one is black. Oh. The other rider, then. Wait… are he and Strider brothers? You think you remember seeing that on the poster about the race. Maybe you should stop calling him by his surname, then. They do look very much related.

You catch the (older?) brother’s eyes, and you are struck by the color of them. So they are amber, then. They catch the light in an intimidating way that somehow the ruby eyes of his brother didn’t hold. You’re glad your own eyes are gray, like your mother’s. These two would be hard to hide in a crowd. 

The amber eyes stare you down, unblinking, and you have to turn away. Deciding to give it one last shot, you reach up for the book one more time before you’ll go run the rest of your errands. Surprise surprise, though, you’re still not able to reach it. Not too long after you give up, a hand shoots up beside yours, and grabs the book. 

“You need help?” A deep voice asks, from just next to your ear.

You turn, and immediately fall backwards. It’s the one with the amber eyes, standing just next to you. He catches your arm and holds you up so that you aren’t forced to throw your weight onto the shelves. He’s taller than you, even when you’re fully standing, which makes him definitely taller than Dave Strider. All this nervous thought about height has you distracted, and you answer belatedly, in a rush, and you sound more irritated than you are.

“Not really.” 

The guy clicks his tongue, and straightens you up with a frown. 

“I’m charmed. It’s too bad that you don’t want help. Cause I’m helping you. Little bird said you were a grump. Didn’t want to believe him.”

“Thanks,” you reply shortly, getting your crutches back under you as he hands them to you. 

“You want help with something else?”

Uhh. “How could you possibly help me with anything else if I haven’t asked?” 

“I need to take some blueprints to Smith Vantas later.”

Ahh. So this is Dirk, then. You’re just going to assume Dirk Strider is the full name. 

“And?” You ask, letting yourself frown and back away from him.

“I happen to have a blueprint for a pretty decent prosthetic leg, as well,” he says like it explains everything. 

You bristle, and ask one of the dumbest questions ever. “Why the fuck would I need a prosthetic leg, civilian.”

When you call people ‘civilian’, you’re fully aware of the fact that it means you’re being defensive, and referential to your (usually) higher (sort of) status in life than them. The title is mostly reflexive, at this point, vestiges from when it used to have meaning. The man just steps away, and looks you up and down once, and then twice, letting his eyes settle on your leg. 

“That same little birdie told me you’d misplaced yours on a minefield,” he says. And yeah, that does explain at least one thing. Dave Strider is a nosy ass and a coincidental gossip. 

The door tingles again, and both you and the elder brother look over to it at the same time. Speak of the Devil, and he shall appear. Dave Strider is standing there, arms full of a bag and a box. The bag jingles with hollow glass. Vials? “Cmon, man, let’s go,” Dave says, giving you a slightly surprised once-over, but quickly averting his gaze.

“Yeah yeah, Dave, on my way,” Dirk says, and turns. He pauses a minute, and looks at your leg again. “In case you change your mind, I’ll take the blueprint over with the other patterns. Don’t yell at Smith Vantas for my stubbornness.”

The fact that Dave won’t look at you irks you deep for a reason you can’t quite understand within yourself. You turn back to Dirk.

“I wouldn’t get angry at my own mother,” you say back, and hold out your hand for the book.

“How would I know?” Dirk asks rhetorically, salutes you, and walks away after dropping the tome in your waiting hand. On his way out of the store, he swats Dave sharply upside the head. Dave yelps, and immediately starts complaining. They disappear from the doorway with a swish of gold pattern, and a sharp breeze shuts the door. The window on the front of the shop shows Dave pointing to you, then to his leg, then making a questioning gesture. 

Hm.

They disappear from view. You go up to the front of the store and purchase the book. The shop owner doesn’t see a problem with you sticking the book in your knapsack, but insists on you wrapping it in a few layers of paper first. You acquiesce, remembering how much you used to value dusty tomes. 

Not that they aren’t valuable now. But you don’t hold much value in anything right now, except your dignity, calm nights, good bread, and your mother. 

War taught you, to a degree, that not much else mattered. Not even love. Romantic love, at least. Romantic love didn’t save anyone, and it didn’t make it any more heroic when a man sacrificed himself for his lady back home, by running out into cannonfire. Romantic love wasn’t what put Sollux’s hands on your shoulders after a long battle, rubbing your scars. That was all pity, the bad kind. Romantic love wasn’t what made you put your hands on his waist and ask him to stay the first time. That was all desperation, and fear of death. Fear of dying alone. And habit made the situation repeat itself. 

Romantic love didn’t and doesn’t matter. After all, before the last battle, he pushed you away and told you that he had a wife and a brother he was going back to at home, and it was better this way. Of course you knew. Of course you agreed. It wasn’t Sollux’s fault that you lost your faith in love, and you don’t blame him. All soldiers, man or woman or otherwise, turned to their fellows for warmth and understanding. Especially in the winter, in that last, horrible two years. You had been losing faith in your childish hopes of romantic love, anyway. Having men bleed out against you did that. 

And then you got blown up. 

Why are you getting a book of poetry again?

You rub a hand over the paper covering before you put it in your sack. Right. Because you had liked it before the war. When you were a fucking sap. When you still thought dying for your country was a heroic thing. You still buy it. 

The marketplace is busy when you get there. There are fishermen everywhere, and you go by the merchant your mother told you about to get a decent flask of fish oil and a decent-sized bag of charred sweetfish you can carry around your chest while you hobble home. Part of you doesn’t want to get more of the sweetfish, because of the way Dave Strider wouldn’t look at you. The fish are for him, in the end. For his dragon.

The marketplace has a different tone around the municipal building, and you see new banners. There is a light, yellow and red flag now flying from the tip of the peaked roof. A child asks their mother what the flag is about, and the mother explains that it means that the dragon riders are currently at home, in town. 

You see a few unfamiliar stands around the marketplace, and they’re clearly left for stragglers of the race crowd. Masks and fake tunics bearing the emblems of the racers. One of the carts looks as if it’s packing up, and the owner offers you a flag with what you assume by the colors is the Strider emblem on it. Accepting and pushing him a copper piece, you stuff the thing into your belt pocket and continue walking. Why did you accept it?

Never mind that. A list of what you still need to buy runs through your head. Salt, table salt, leather string, bowstring, ink, and paper. Oh shit, that’s what you forgot at the book shop. Well, mother can come back and get it. A child points at you, at your face most certainly, and you have to move again, heading for the apothecary first. You come out with ink, and then you spot the hunting supplies vendor, and pick up a bag of rock salt, and a block of table salt.

The same man sells you leather string for a good bargain, and includes the bowstring for free, because he ‘owes Smith Vantas a favor for fixing [his] awl.’ With that, you have everything, and start toward the cliff wall path after picking up a leg of some kind of fowl for your midday meal. 

On the way there, you pass a large area that looks like an arena. The two brothers from earlier are there, in front of a large group of older children. The younger Strider is sitting on the curled form of Aradia, and the older one is doing a sword handling demonstration with a wooden practice sword. His form is very good, and he seems patient as he waits for the children to move with him. You stand to watch them complete an exercise, and then they are dismissed, most likely for lunch. 

Did you take that long at the market? Or was it a short lesson? You hear thunder, and decide that it must be the bad weather.

Dirk stands out in the middle of the arena and makes a series of calls that you can hear even from your location, at least forty yards away. The golden ripple of dragon scales descends gracefully from the sky, and lands just as gracefully on the dirt of the arena. Dirk walks over to some stands that are sitting under a sturdy-looking cover, and picks up a long bag that has a few scrolls peeking out of the top. He waves to the younger brother, and easily hops up onto the golden back, immediately flying up into the sky. 

When you look back to the arena, preparing to take off, you see Dave looking straight at you. It wasn’t something you noticed seconds before, but he has that half-face visor on, even now. Maybe he’s doing a lot of flying today. He pats his dragon’s nose and mouths something that you can’t make out from where you are. The black visor glints in the disappearing light of the sun. 

You keep walking. 

By the time you reach the top of the cliff path, it’s sprinkling. By halfway home, it’s raining. By the time you reach the house, you’re soaked through and it’s pouring buckets from the sky. Your crutches are going to have mud on them for weeks if you don’t clean it off, and thankfully your mother has a hot bath waiting for you to warm you up. 

The water is a blessing when you lower yourself into it. There’s another thing you value: a hot bath. There were no hot baths in the army, for two years and then another four. After a year of being home, that is, and being called back to duty. The four years in the second part are years you spent as a Colonel. 

Your mother is humming from the hearth where she cooks, a song you remember from your childhood, slow and lilting. It would traditionally go with a flute, you think. As you close your eyes, you sink further into the heat and sigh. The dirt almost flees your skin in the water, and you let your entire body up to your shoulders sink in.

“Karkat, may I come in?” She asks, and opens the curtain separating the tub from the kitchen, just a crack. 

“Yes.” Because who are you to refuse her?

She pulls a stool up next to the tub, and places the soap cake and currently dry sponge on her lap. Right now, she’s wearing an apron and skirt. It must have been a slow day, today. 

“The elder mister Strider told me that he met you in town today,” she begins, and you let her wet the sponge. You sit forward almost instinctually so that she can wash your back. First with the soap, then with the sponge to get the dirt. The water is positively cloudy with the amount of dirt you’re sloughing off. 

“Hmm,” you hum. It’s hard to be frustrated at her when she’s running fingers through your hair as if you were still a child. She’s only done it a few times since you were a wee lamb: in the first few weeks after you got back with less of you than before. The sensation takes you away from your bitterness, your memories of war. 

“He told me that he told you about the leg design.”

“Mother.” Now you manage to get tense. You push her hand away from your head, and she goes back to running the sponge up and down your back. The elder Strider must have had some very good ideas to get her to talk to you about it so soon. It turns out he was right, in the end, about you needing to keep from yelling.

“I want to do this for you, Karkat,” she murmurs. “It’ll help you. To be able to…” she stops.

“Walk again?” You finish for her. 

“Yes, my son,” she says. “It will take some time to work out the specifics. But with help from the elder Strider boy, since they’ll be in town…”

You sigh. You give up. It’s so warm in the house, the lighting so yellow, with your mother here next to you, and part of you will be in that bed forever, with only one leg. But why can’t the other part hope to walk again?

“It won’t be perfect, since you don’t have a knee. But it will be something, if you want it,” she comforts. 

“I won’t stop you,” you say. Not looking at her. 

She leans down to kiss your forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! Was gonna post this up last night but I really love reading comments when I'm closing up at work, it inspires me! 
> 
> I'm going to stop responding to every single comment and only the ones that seem to need a response, just judging by how it seems to affect the way I write for whatever fucked-up psychological reason. I love letting you guys know that I saw your comments, and I LOVE feedback of any and every kind, and feel free to ask questions or give advice because I'll do my best to reply to that, but yeah. Haha I'm so sorry. 
> 
> Anyhoo! Hope everyone likes this chapter, and you all are having a good evening when you read this installment. There will be happy soon, I swear, I'm sorry it's so tense all the time :/ But hey, I gave you gratuitous familial fluff, lol, I'm not all bad.
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> PS: I totally wrote this and the next 3 chapters BEFORE I read Space Bro. This fic is not inspired by that fic in any way, or derived from it, just for disclaimer reasons. There won't be any future Solkat in this, I just wanted to tag it as a warning of sorts


	4. EPISODE 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat gets fitted and exhibits some unhealthy habits.

The very next day, Strider is there. Both of them. 

Their dragons are… frolicking is really the only word for it, out in the field. And the elder Strider just asked you to remove your pants. 

“Excuse me?” You’re perched on a bench in the smithery, next to the work desk with all the diagrams on it. And staring at Dirk as if he just offered to gently fondle your nether regions… Or what’s left of them, right?

You’re mostly kidding. 

Dave is sitting on the windowsill, kicking his feet. 

“He needs to get a good measurement, and the best way to do that is to have your leg itself, without clothes,” he helpfully provides, with a smirk. He seems to be over whatever fit he was throwing yesterday, but it doesn’t make it any better. 

All of the people currently observing you don’t help much, either. Yes, it’s just the brothers, one of the forge pumpers and your mother. That’s still too many, though. Only two people you know in this town have seen your legs. Your mother, and the head healer.

Inhaling deeply, though, you lock eyes with Dave. “Fuck off,” You spit, and reach to undo your trousers. There is no shame in war, and you feel a malaise settle over yourself as you steel your nerves to reveal the scarring. Large, white mottled webs stretch like reaching lightning over your thighs. The right thigh, the whole leg, only has the scarring on the inside and half of the bottom of the foot. Dirk reaches over and carefully supports your shoulders while you roll down the pants. 

Your mother stands in the back, a beacon of support, as Dave moves forward to help you pull the fabric off of the stump. The rest of the pants stay on, though, and you’re grateful he only needs you to take off your shoe on that side. 

When you glance at Dave, his gaze is studiously averted. You can see his eyes, as his visor is off, and he looks very uncomfortable. Stressed, worried, guilty. Like he knows he has no right to see this. He holds your stump up carefully while Dirk runs a measuring tape around it, though, at three different points. You know what he sees when he does look, though. 

A mutilated piece of flesh, covered in ugly scar tissue with a bulge on the end where there’s too much muscle, to cover the sawed-off and sanded-down bone inside. White, and still permanently pink in some places, much lighter than your skin. They’d had to cut off more of your leg than was initially blown off, because the medics, however practiced in healing magic, weren’t able to work with an arcane-cauterized bone for whatever reason. 

“Thank you,” Dirk says, and steps back. Dave gently lets go of your leg. His fingertips linger like an unsaid apology. You can’t feel it, but you can see it. It’s not just an apology for seeing your leg. It’s an apology for what he’d said the other day, and an apology for using magic when magic is what did this to you. 

Dirk has you stand up, then, and on the crutches it doesn’t work because he doesn’t have enough room, and you’d be hunched over. So this is why Dave is here. Dirk has Dave stand beside you, and hold you up as straight as possible while he measures your inseam and the distance from your thigh to the ground. These measurements won’t be perfect, you know, there will always be adjustments to be made. 

Dave’s eyes are red, like blood. Fields of blood. Deep breath, don’t think about it. Dirk’s fingers are tracing your mutilated ankle and taking notes on the angle of your knee, and you decide to think about how Dave is shorter than you are, instead. About four inches, enough to not make leaning over his shoulder uncomfortable. 

A twinge hits your right hip from standing up straight, with the angle you’re at, and you wince. 

“All right, we’re done. I’ll have some notes for you by the end of the week, and a better schematic for you to work off of, Smith Vantas.”

You breathe a sigh of relief, and nudge Dave until he helps you sit back down. Fuck it, you don’t need his help. He helps anyway, though, pulling your pants up around the stump leg for you. You slap his hands away, and your mother comes over so that you can lean on her instead as you struggle to pull on the pants, and then your shoes. It’s embarrassing. There’s so much gratitude in her eyes. So much hope, and she kisses your forehead. 

For your mother, you won’t stop trying yet. 

Dave backs off, going back to his spot on the windowsill. He’s not kicking his feet anymore, and it puts you on edge for reasons you can’t pinpoint. 

“If we’re done here, I’ll be back late tonight, mother,” you tell her, short and terse. 

But you kiss her cheek anyway before you hoist up your crutches again and leave the building behind. 

“Be careful, son!” She calls after you as you pass the house. 

For the first time in an hour, you feel like you can breathe again. Wind passes through your hair and you almost collapse at the feeling of air entering your lungs. Finally. The two dragons that are still playing in the grass perk up. The red one comes to walk beside you. Crawl beside you. Slither? Undulate? Walk, fine, it’s walking.

_“Where are you going?”_

“Fuck off.”

She snorts. _“No reason to be so rude.”_

“I want to be alone, is that too much to ask?”

_“Yes.”_ A light giggle fills your mind, but self-indulgent, and a little sinister. How does Strider do this all the time? _“But I suppose you can have it for now.”_

“Thank you.”

She hops into the air as you slowly crutch away from her, away from the house, away from those Striders, away from the pressure and away from people staring at you, poking you, supporting you, being kind. Aradia chirps, and growls loudly behind you as she dives at the golden serpent. Playing like children, like siblings, it sounds like. You wonder if they’re sisters. 

It hurts your arms, hobbling this fast, but it’s fine. You can support yourself, you’re fine. You have to be fine. You can’t be successful in battle anymore so what’s the point? Your father wouldn’t be proud of you like this, so you have to be fine. You have to be. You don’t need the damn leg, you’re doing the prosthetic thing for mother. 

 

* * *

 

At around dusk you arrive at the bridge restaurant. Jane is overjoyed to see you. 

“It’s wonderful to see you again! It’s been a few days, hasn’t it?”

You remain mostly silent until you get to your table. It feels like even your skin creaks as you sit.

“Spirits to start, today, if you don’t mind, Miss Crocker,” you say, before she can ask if you’d like your usual. 

Immediately concern shows on her face. She knows why you must get this way, when some days are worse than others. “I’ll also be sure to bring you some of that soup you like, and some of your favorite bread.”

You open your mouth and frown, about to protest, but she puts a soft, round hand on one of your shoulders to stop you. It’s warm.

“Now, now, Colonel, I won’t be having any of that. You’ll eat the soup too or your mother will have me flayed,” she says, with a small smile. She doesn’t ask, and that’s good.

When she leaves to fetch your order, you sigh, and slow down. You must look a mess, plain white shirt and brown vest, black pants twisted. Boots probably covered in mud from your hasty trip here. At least you didn’t have to take the cliff path to get here, since the bridge spans the canyon itself and is on level with your mother’s home. 

No one else is here, on the balcony, so you let yourself slump. Jane brings you the soup and bread, making sure you take at least a bite of each before she gives you the spirits.

 

* * *

 

Three hours later, you are well and fully drunk. It feels so nice, and familiar. Everything is easier to handle when you’re like this, the world is fuzzy, and your hands are warm. Jane had helped you up the stairs, kindly, and sent you on your way with nary a complaint. But you’re not wanting to go back to the house yet, and feeling much cozier just on top of the bridge. Walking doesn’t sound good.

So you’re sitting on top of the bridge, on a bench. The moon is drifting behind some clouds, and the ocean is crashing. Crickets chirp more happily than you could be at this point, or any point, really. It’s starting to rain, again, and the night is so quiet that you can hear every drop on the stone. 

The bench has cover, thankfully, being directly over Jane’s restaurant. Not that a little water ever hurt you. The spring makes the precipitation not warm, but not cold, either. 

Being drunk is nice. Frequenting the tavern would get you talked about, though. And would invite unwanted company. This town is somehow free of any especially loose women to selfishly find comfort in, but gossip is sore on your countenance, and spreads like fire in the driest hay.

There’s no thunder tonight, so maybe it’s just a light spring rain. You wonder if maybe this week, you might want to help your mother install storm shutters. One of the Lalondes foresaw a storm coming. Decently sized, and not too much damage. But enough to warrant extra protection on houses. The boats will be fine if they tie them in correctly. Five days from now, was the hot word. Yesterday? Weather didn’t change in visions, so it was a definite thing to come. 

While you’re busy thinking about weather, the rain strengthens. No wind currents, oddly, but the deluge is coming down hard enough to blur your view of the town below and its few firelights. A massive crashing sound, this rain, on the roof you’re under. Like the footsteps of a thousand men, all stepping at once. An army of droplets, putting their waves in one foot at a time.

A tangle of bells hung from the gable of one side of the roof rattles.

There’s no wind. 

You start, a little belatedly due to your level of sheer inebriation, and turn around. A hand goes for your right sickle before you realize you don’t have them. They’ve been in your cedar chest, with your uniform. Just sitting there, beneath the decorative sickles made of white steel and inlaid deeply with gold and glistening mother of pearl. The queen’s gift for your “promotion.” Even though her long term plan was to have you killed, right, or rather her plan was to use you and you would die in the process. Maybe she felt sorry for you.

Stock still, looking shocked at your wild eyes and crouch, is Dave. You’re calling him by his first name, now, apparently. The rain has let up, some, but it feels dimmer in the cover of the roof somehow. Dave holds out his hands at you in a placating fashion, and bends down to pick up the fallen lantern. When had you knocked that over? When did Jane give you a lantern? You’re breathing very heavily, you notice now. What happened to your composure?

Dave holds the lamp up, and just barely waves his fingers to spark another light in the round glass chamber. The spark catches, and you get a whiff of smoke. Smoke, deep, searching, diving into your nose and lungs and burning bodies from the mouths of the death gods. 

Maybe the drinking was a bad idea. 

But it does do one thing for you, and lets you ignore all the instincts that tell you not to turn your back on Dave. When you turn around, however, the red serpent is there, out in the rain, watching you. She floats silently for a minute, and then lands just on the rail. You’re filled with grief and guilt. You can remember the screaming. _Voices echoing both in your head and screeching a wail into the physical plane, as an armor plate is ripped off of the chest of a great, great creature._

Your head falls into your hands, and you bend over. Shit. You need more alcohol. The adrenaline and that other thing with the dragon completely killed the drunkness. You want the drunkness to come all the way back. The drunkness was kind to you, kinder than life is. 

Dave seems to understand that, somehow, and a flask is bumping you on the arm. The liquid inside smells hot, like cinnamon and pepper, and you swig it. The flavor is fierce, but you’re grateful. The sensation of floating returns after about five minutes, time in which Dave chooses to sit down at a bench perpendicular to your own. One more swig seems to do the trick, and you hand the flask back. 

He takes his own sips, smaller than yours, from it. He’s clearly watching you, but you need to stay calm. Calm. Calming down in the first place would be a good idea, you think, so you try at that. Deep breaths. This man is okay, right? You don’t trust him, but you trust him not to kill you. Not that you don’t already wish you were dead half the time. But your mother likes him, so he’s fine. 

Right, he’s fine. Mother trusts him. He’s fine. And his dragon is not the one you killed. 

The second drink is starting to kick in, you think, and when you exhale, a little steam comes out. Gasping with wonder, you exhale again. 

“It’s okay. Rose came up with the stuff. Makes me look cool cause of the rider thing, but it’s safe for you to drink,” Dave tells you. 

When you look at him, he’s staring into the distance. His visor is on, blocking you from seeing his eyes and nose. The thing, now that your shame has left you and you can stare, covers his eyes, nose, and comes to a point just above his mouth. The glass is almost effervescent black, a little purple tint to it, and it fits solidly around the back of his head. It must function as some kind of shield for him, an emotional shield. His words have you settling back, and he sort of hiccups a tiny bit, waving his hand to get you to pay attention. He waits until you’re looking, and then holds up a match. When he strikes it on his teeth, you feel like you might throw up again. But instead of anything else he could have done, he gently blows across the flame.

Waves of pink and aurora borealis stream out a short distance from his mouth. The match extinguishes, and he flicks it at Aradia, grinning. She catches it on her tongue, and the piece of wood crunches noisily in her mouth. 

“Nice party trick,” you say. He grins some more, this time a little more genuine. 

“Don’t try it yourself, you’ll fail. I’ve got a little magic,” he replies. 

“I know,” you say. Dave frowns. 

The rain has let up, for the most part. A breeze floats through the little roofed area, and you breathe it in. Mud, wet grass, the taste of nighttime and stillness, and the ocean. Thanks to either your latent enjoyment of Dave’s little trick, or the drink that’s currently got you slightly floating, you don’t immediately think of anything dark. Sometimes it feels like a broken windmill, stuck on one point and unmoving, but that’s where you were for at least two of your military years. 

Stuck on a broken shit mill.

“I’m sorry for before, Vantas.”

“What?” You slur a tiny bit, and the corner of his mouth quirks up. The rest of that pink line is still set and grim. “Be specific, Strider.”

He sighs. “For disrespecting the memory of your father. I didn’t know. And I’m sorry.”

You look out at the now-sprinkling rain, and listen for a minute or two. Aradia scuttles down and around the bridge, going out in the weather to rest with eyes closed, and facing up into the downpour.

“It’s okay, Strider,” you tell him. And you mean it. 

Dave looks relieved, but he doesn’t say it. He doesn’t say anything about earlier in the day, you notice. And you don’t probably deserve an apology for that one, do you? They were just trying to help you. It’s not their fault that you’re incredibly fucked in the head. 

“Thank you for not… looking too much, earlier,” you get out. 

If Dave notices the unevenness of your voice, he doesn’t mention it. Thankfully. 

He doesn’t seem to know what to say though, and you watch as he nods. Just. Nods. 

Well, it seems like time to leave. You stand up.

A second wave of alcohol hits you, then, and you sigh as everything goes a little sideways. The back of the bench was a very good thing to have there, you suppose, as you slump. Dave’s face goes a little sideways, too, and you don’t see much as he reaches out to hold you up. 

“Shouldn’t have let you have two… damn Lalonde.”

It’s a little dark for a bit, and when you open your eyes, it’s like you’re flying with the wind hitting your cheeks. Warm arms surround you, and you’re leaning into something that’s just as warm. The world undulates several times, and you narrow your eyes at it. It’s not raining anymore, and the stars are lovely. Why is everything swaying? You ignore it and fall back asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the sickles i wanted to figure out a good and believable material (for the decorative sickles) that would have some kind of iridescence like karkat's in-game sickles might have if they were made out of pre-existing materials? sorry anyway hope everyone's doing well, ive been really busy and bad-mood-bears and i will be next week too (probs) so a new chapter is kind of up in the air for a couple weeks. the next chapter was a doozy so I split it into two parts, and it's taking me forever to edit because i was rly tired when i wrote it, haha
> 
> i had other things to add but like fuck i cant remember them
> 
> til next time!


	5. EPISODE 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a festival, and Karkat is recognized by someone he's never met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! if you haven't read chapter 4, please go read it! (it's an important chapter imo!) for some reason I feel like a lot of people missed it, maybe because of the odd time I posted it! Either that, or because for some reason the post decided to show up at the bottom of the first page of recently updated fics. :/ it was weird. otherwise, please enjoy, more notes at the end!

“Get that one on the bottom right, sweetie.”

The last nail is driven into the corner of the last shutter, and you fall back onto the stool you’ve been toting around. 

“That the last one?” You ask, even though you know the answer to that. You’ve been counting as they were put up, eager to be done with the task. It’s difficult on your… leg. This being beside the fact that your joints ache, now, when weather is coming. Your mother grins, hooks her hammer back into the loop on her belt, and pats you on the shoulder. 

“Yes, son,” she tells you. “Now, let’s get inside before the rain starts.”

Luckily, it’s not supposed to start raining for short while, as the flares less than twenty minutes ago indicated. The flares were sent out by the Lalondes. You should be used to the casual use of magic, with how many protective barriers you would have on your tent alone at a time, or with how you had to dip a runed piece of quartz in your food to test for poison. For some reason, the weather prediction catches you off guard. 

 

* * *

 

It’s a long three days inside while you and your mother wait out the weather. The only difference between now and when you first got here is that your mother is inside with you. The forge doesn’t need to be maintained during the storm, so she’s taking care of extra chores while she can.

Currently, you’re halfway through your book, and your mother is searching through your chest. The chest you haven’t opened in months creaks when she moves the lid, and you tense. 

“What are you doing in there?” You ask, paused in the middle of turning a page. 

The air in the room is almost solid with more than just the humid chill from the storm. No one is supposed to see inside that chest, no one. Even though your mother has looked inside of it before, that was… months ago, you’re pretty sure. Unless she’s been opening it while you’re out. But it’s not good to think about that. Thinking that she could have seen your wounds in the making, or the journal you’d kept at war, or all the letters she’d sent you, bundled up? What if anyone else saw your things? What if someone else saw the pieces of mutilated metal at the bottom, and know everything you’d done?

That’s right, that’s right… they’re at the bottom. Underneath… a few sets of old uniforms, and boots.

You haven’t looked at them in a long time. Have you cleaned them? Since… have you cleaned them?

There’s no hesitation in the sound of her movements as she rustles around with something, and pulls out something else. A small tinny noise hits the ground, and you can’t breathe. Metallic, but too resonant to be yours from battle… the decorative ones, the sickles? Not only can you not breathe, but you can’t turn around to look. Mother hisses, and you can hear the weapons being carefully placed back into the chest. She’s removed something else. 

The trunk’s lid snaps closed, and you feel like you can breathe again. 

“I was just gettin’ your dress uniform out, dear,” she replies belatedly. She sounds a little distracted. 

Now you’re confused. “Why?” You ask.

“Need to air it out, and make sure measurements are still good. Maybe take in the left leg for you,” she says, and you can already hear her mouth muffled by the straight pins. 

“But why?” She hadn’t answered your question. 

“Because,” she says, “The spring festival is coming up, and there’s always a decent-sized party at the end. People dress up.”

You decide to push the notion of having to dress up and go out in public, out of your head. For at least a few days.

 

* * *

 

Just as foreseen, the storm ends on the fourth morning before the sun rises. Being trapped inside has made you restless, and you’re almost taking back the very notion that you don’t want to be around all those people. You catch a ride with your mother to town, and are glad you did. The elevators to the city are a little backed up, and the walking path is almost full of passersby; it would have made travel for you pretty difficult.

The town square and shops are all decorated brightly. It must have taken hours this morning to put up everything, but everyone seems to not mind or be tired in the least. Maybe it was done with magic. It’s still morning, and the streets are muddy, but they’re full of happy and energetic folk. 

The whole town has come out for the occasion it seems, and when you look up, you can see the Striders helping put up a tent from the backs of their dragons. The task is easily accomplished, and they move on to a few banners in a matter of minutes. They both seem very content to be out and about, as well, with how they joke with one another, and Dirk pelts Dave with an empty banner scroll. The interaction makes you wonder how the dragons handle being inside for bad weather. Probably not well.

A flash of a dark visor, and Dave is looking at you. He gives a little wave, and you realize that you’ve been staring. A curt nod, and you’re on your way to crutching through the people. There are stalls with some vegetables and roasting food, and you pick up some bread and cheese from the booth Jane’s setting up before sitting yourself down on a wall slightly out of the way. 

The amount of people is a little overwhelming, but with everyone in good spirits like they are, it’s not that bad. 

Your mother had told you that the festival lasts for three days. The first day, there will be booths, opening festivities and a ceremony to celebrate the end of winter, and the beginning of the planting season. The next day, people can go to the church of the Light and pay tithe and respect, and then the third day, there is more celebration, games, dancing, and a party at the end of the evening to celebrate the coming of the summer months. The third day was apparently everyone’s favorite; according to your mother, people dressed up, played games, there would be a small tournament of sport, and the dragon riders would perform a dance and set off a great party. Apparently the townsfolk liked to dress up in whatever was their finest and drink a lot of wine. 

Honestly, you couldn’t wait to be massively uncomfortable at this event. Your mother insisted you go along and be her escort. So. 

Now it was the first day, and you forget what you said earlier about being restless, because the amount of people is getting to be a little too much. The ceremony will take place at noon, so you finish your cheese and bread and decide to go find a seat there and watch people until the event. On the way there, you brush by an amazon of a woman with long dark hair and skin and… ears? Poking out of the top of her hood. Pointed ears. She stares at you like she knows you, and you avert your gaze. You’re just being paranoid.

Walking around the square, you find several trinket booths set up, with all sorts of things. Do people from neighboring towns come, too? You see many unfamiliar faces and suspect that this is true. What a special village. Tired of scanning things by yourself, though, you find the square, and plunk yourself right down on a bench in front of the wide area where the ceremony will be held. The grounds are almost pulsing with excitement and activity.

What kind of ceremony? That’s a very good question, and not one you’re really able to answer at this point. A ceremony to usher in the new planting season, right? Off to the side, you can see a woman in a long, dark gown moving some bowls to sit on top of a table. Before too long, she disappears behind a curtain, and doesn’t emerge until you’ve been sitting for some time, and people are gathering more readily. 

A bell tolls in the church, and there’s a great stretching movement toward the area. There is too much chatter, rancorous and anticipatory. Thankfully, though, when the blonde woman comes back out, everything falls to a near-hush. Two more women, similar in dress and appearance, come out to join her. The three stand in front of what looks like a giant bowl on the ground, bronzed and filigreed. It stands perfectly on its base, though the base appears perfectly curved. A circle is dug into the ground around it, with a star going to and from five points around the circumference. 

The hush coils down into something that feels ready to burst, when two more figures come out from the sides of the arena. All five of them stand around the circle. The two newest figures, which you now recognize as Dirk and Dave, stand on the corners closest to the audience. Their garb is long and decorated, both wearing white tunics and black pants edged with thousands of tiny glittering and jingling discs. Their color-coordinated stoles are much longer and wider than the ones they just wear around on a daily basis, and their visors are off. Both are wearing draping brass chains around their foreheads, and both have their faces coated with what looks like ceremonial face paint that mimics the colors and faces of their dragons. 

It’s a noticeable difference, and it’s no wonder you didn’t recognize them at first. Their very fair hair should have been a dead giveaway, but somehow the ceremonial garb outweighed familiarity for long enough to give you pause. 

The dragons float into view, but don’t land, and simply glide around each other in a smooth circle above the bowl on the ground. 

Not wasting any time, the first woman you’d seen, seemingly the eldest, produces some kind of herb from nowhere, and tosses it into the bowl. The next one around the circle pours in what looks like a large flagon of wine. She has a mask over her eyes, and a spiral of some kind painted on her forehead. The next sprinkles over the mix a handful of seeds. This one has a sunburst sewn into her dark gown, and a face like she knows everything.

The crowd murmurs, as if coming out of a trance, as Dirk holds a bundle of dead grass over his head. He throws it into the air, and the golden serpent seems to almost catch it in her mouth before a spray of steaming white air gushes around the bundle. The grass falls into the bowl with a glass-like breaking sound, as the frozen bundle shatters on impact. 

A young man dressed all in blue that you hadn’t noticed before wolf-whistles from about ten feet away. Black hair, skin almost as dark as yours, with a solid metal disc sitting on his chest, connected by what looks like a ceremonial cord. The markings on the cord look very similar to the ones on Dave and Dirk’s stoles.

Movement from in front of you catches your eye, and you forget about the man. Dave picks up something at his feet: a bundle of the spring’s first flowers, tied together with a grape vine. He wiggles it a little, testing the solidity of the binding you guess, and tosses that into the air. A burst of flame comes from the mouth of the ruby serpent, and a giggling fills the air, alongside a deeper chuckling sound that chills you a little in your core. The flowers, flaming, drop into the bowl. 

The whole thing lights up. Cheers. Fire. Crackling, burning the acrid smell of wine and blood and dead grass that fuels the wildfires of your nightmares. Since everyone else is standing already, you are not noticed when you get up to leave. You catch the eye of the man that’s dressed all in blue. He looks at you funny, as if just realizing you were real. Kind of like the tall woman from earlier. You’re just being paranoid, probably, but that’s all you need to get the fuck out of there for good. 

You walk the rest of the way home after waving to your mother from across the square. 

You don’t eat dinner that day. 

 

* * *

 

For the next day, you help your mother around the house, helping to take off the storm reinforcements. It takes a very large chunk of the day, because you don’t enlist her help for any of it. She lets you, and you shoulder through it alone, methodically making sure to do it properly and ensure the least possible amount of damage. 

When she asks if you want to go with her to pay tithe to the Light, you turn her down with a gentle wave of one hand. She doesn’t really buy it when you say something about being tired from the previous day’s activities, but she gives a good-natured nod and lets it slide. 

 

* * *

 

On the third day, you don’t have much of a choice but to go to the festival. When you don’t come down for the first half of the day, your mother sends Kanaya Maryam to pick you up. She is patient and stern when it comes to getting you into your dress uniform, which your mother so kindly altered to fit your left leg. 

It’s unsettling to see the uniform, much less put it on. Kanaya says that it’s perfect weather for you to wear all of the different pieces at once. She herself is fairly dressed up, in a longer dress with a few layers, and laces all up the back. She is wearing several pieces of bright metal jewelry, and claims that it is the custom to wear all finery on the last day. 

The braids and the pins are put on the uniform by Kanaya, helpfully, and she fills the air with soft chatter about how the morning was, and how the roads are neither too dusty nor damp for excellent festival weather. When your smooth black jacket is all done up, even with its small slate shoulder cape, and you are gleaming sufficiently and your hair is held back into a short tail by a dark band instead of just everywhere like it usually is, she deems you sufficient. 

Half of the array of medals and flags sit untouched at the bottom of your chest. You only wear the ones you actually earned. The uniform itself shows your real rank on the collar and sleeve, so there’s no worry that someone would only look at the brass on your chest and think you were undeserving. 

Kanaya tsks at your crutches looking as scruffy as they do, but otherwise says nothing about them and waits for you to work up the will to leave the house. The door is a daunting enemy, you find, and it’s a hard one to pass. How… what will people think of you, like this? Do you look intimidating, do you look like yourself? The last time you wore this dress uniform… it was for the ceremony where they named you Colonel. You had been so proud of it, of your ‘accomplishments,’ of the shiny new decorative weapons at your sides and the shiny shoes on your feet.

They had been laughing behind their hands at you, but you kept your chin up at court, and were gracious and poised as you knew how to be. 

Now, though… these people had only ever known the poorer, lame version of yourself. And them seeing you in this was different than that room of vultures waiting for the sickly deer to die. They would have different perceptions. 

“Anytime now, Colonel,” Kanaya says, holding out a hand respectfully. 

You step out the door and lock it tight. You step off the porch. 

 

* * *

 

The party is in full swing by the time you get there. Tables pouring with food and people, and crowds of dancers and partyers all around. There are games, there is the hand-to-hand combat stage of a sport tournament finishing up, and there are even chicken races. However useful that is. 

You stick with Kanaya, which she does not appear to mind, hoping she will lead you to your mother so that she can see you and how the uniform fits. However, the seamstress leads you to a small circle of people situated around a table. The man in blue from two days ago and the dark-skinned woman with the ear hood are here. They’re causing the loudest ruckus as the tall woman drinks deeply from a pint of ale and the blue-clad man throws his arm around Dave Strider. Right. The others at the table. 

This crowd is already flicking warnings on and off in your head, without the added pressure of suddenly being in a group of people that you have no business being around. There are the two younger women from the ceremony days ago, as well as the Striders. And now you and Kanaya. The two that you don’t know stare openly at you, and the table goes suddenly quiet. 

“Well I’ll be damned,” Dirk says, “Vantas decides to grace the town with his presence.”

You summon all your available hatred and glare at him. 

“Don’t say that like you’ve been waiting for me to show up,” you retort, and decide to take some weight off your arms and sit down at an available seat at the table. 

“Well I haven’t, but your mother has,” he shoots back easily, and you feel guilty. 

“Hmm, and he sure cleans up well, too,” one of the young women from the ceremony says. She and the woman sitting next to her are both clad darkly, with light hair and long black gloves. The one who spoke is the one with the mask, and she drinks some from her wine before laughing into a hand. Too late you realize you’re blushing, and wave her off. 

“I’ll get our new friend some drink,” Dave says, and pats your shoulder just barely before disappearing behind you. 

The other blonde from earlier isn’t smiling at you, but she isn’t not smiling, either. She holds out a hand, palm down. You take it properly, and kiss the top like your mother taught when you were young. “Rose,” she says, approving of your gesture. “The other is Roxy.”

“Colonel Karkat Vantas of the 4th battalion, and thank you,” you reply reflexively, honestly, and swallow, releasing her hand. Okay. So the other blonde was Roxy… wait… Lalondes. Holy Light, these are two of the Lalondes? Then she already knew what you were going to say? And these are some powerful magic users, too. Mostly white, but with dalliances in grimdark magic, you had heard. 

You balk, openly, and Roxy laughs some more into her wine. “Nice to meet you, Colonel shouty.”

You balk some more. When a tankard is plunked down in front of you, with some sausage, you turn to look at Dave. 

“Yeah, mind-boggling, isn’t it?” He says, a little bitterly for a reason you don’t know, and then adds, “Smith Vantas says to enjoy yourself.”

After giving him some kind of what you hope is a slightly grateful but mostly withering look, you take a drink of whatever he got you, and look around the rest of the table. The two you still haven’t met yet are giving you the same kind of knowing, suspicious look. The main difference is that the one with the emblem on his chest is leaning back, arms crossed, and the dark-skinned woman is leaning forward, chin in her hands. 

“So…” The woman begins, turning her suspicion into an easy grin. “This is where you’ve been hiding.” The easy grin doesn’t look so easy anymore. You choke on nothing, and it’s as if your whole line of vision narrows to her, because she’s gazing at you like she’s looking upon prey. It might be your imagination but it sure doesn’t feel like it. It’s like she’s got glass in her smile and silver spectacles over her pupils for all she’s showing you. Like she’s going to reveal all your secrets. 

Backing away, you glance around for escape. She can’t know, you’ll have to leave. You need to relocate again, or defend your mother, or something. Anything. Battle calm seeps into your bones. While your eyes flit like a caged animal around the circle, you see the frowns. Everyone at the table aside from the woman smirking at you, and Rose Lalonde, are looking like a mix of confusion and the same suspicion that the man in blue is still wearing on his mouth. 

“I’m Jade,” the woman says, and your eyes shoot back to her. She’s holding out her hand, and all you want to do is escape. You don’t take the hand, and you don’t kiss the knuckles like you did for Rose. Jade doesn’t look perplexed, however, and withdraws her hand. “And this guy isn’t usually so grumpy, but he’s John,” she adds, gesturing to the man in blue. 

“Hush hush about you, yes?” She asks, and it’s not really a question. Yes, you guess. Jade holds up a finger in front of her mouth, and there’s a huge bit of it that you don’t want to trust. You’ve been betrayed before, so why would Jade keep quiet about you at all. 

John, Jade, Rose, Roxy, Dirk, Dave, Kanaya. So many names, and too many people looking at you. John hasn’t stopped glaring yet. Panicking, you push back, and push yourself up on your arms. Standing more easily than you thought you could, you get one of your crutches under you, then the other. Sounds of protest follow you, but you need to get away. Your ears feel full, blurring sounds, pounding a drum from your chest. “I apologize, I should really get to my mother,” you call over your shoulder as you go. 

The only glance back that you afford yourself shows Dirk Strider leaning over the table, intently asking Jade a question right to her knowing smirk, and Dave Strider doing the same, punching John hard in the shoulder. That conversation is behind you, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter will be posted in two parts, because on a whole it was getting to around 8k and that's a lot longer than the things I usually post, haha. Anyways, so I hope people are having a good week and I'm getting a little far on my back log of chapters so depending on how my writing energy goes I might not be able to update this as often after the next... 3 chapters. ha!


	6. EPISODE 5.5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Colonel Vantas ran away, but someone chases him and he receives an anticipated letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> go read part one if you haven't yet!

Despite what you said, you don’t go find your mother. 

Instead, you take the rickety old elevator, the one that lies out of the way, on the outside of the center bridge pillar. You go far away from the festival as you can, knowing that Jane’s restaurant will be closed and dark until tomorrow. It’s a long ride to the top, but you get there, and go to stand near the rail on the edge, on top. It took you over half an hour to get here, but it feels worth the time and patience. 

Up here, there’s more silence, and up here, you can breathe. The metal clashing from the tournament ground can’t be heard as you look down over the town, and the crowds mill around cheerfully without you there. The canyon is already getting dark, and you watch as some lanterns are lit in anticipation of the sun completely disappearing over the side of the world. 

It’s still light up here on the bridge, though, and you remove your tailed jacket with the sunlight beating on your shoulders. The jacket gets carefully unbuttoned, and then lain delicately across the rail. It’s not windy, so you don’t worry about it blowing away. 

Is there something wrong with you, now? Getting nervous in a crowd was never a problem when you were constantly surrounded by troops. Being the center of attention was never a problem when you were made a grand figurehead, and had attention on yourself all the time. Having someone ask you prying questions, even one, was never a problem when you constantly had elites asking into your past.

But, then again, you’ve been out of practice for some time. And no one is supposed to really know who or where you are. What if she told Dirk? Surely that John fellow knows, judging by his face, but this town is supposed to be out of the way enough to avoid these people for longer than the few months you’ve been given of peace and quiet. 

Jade’s appearance, upon inspection of your memories, suggests she is a royal witch. Insignia, necklace, tattooed bands of light color on her fingers and wrists. You’ve met one of the witches before, the queen’s own daughter. There are usually only two at a time, so you guess Jade is the other one.

“So, you’re the famous Colonel Karkat Vantas,” a tired voice says from behind you, and you jolt. Were you that distracted that you didn’t notice someone sneaking right up on you? How did this person know where you would be? Whipping around, you first see the ruby serpent curling her tail and shifting into sitting. The next thing you see is what she’s leaning against: a smaller sapphire drake, indigo spines lining its limbs, long and sleek and with giant wings, clearly made for speed. Its claws rake a little on the stone, picking up cracking and flecks of dirt.

More rotation of your body shows you Dave, standing in the background and nudging the blue drake with his foot to get it to stop scratching the stone, pretending to be out of the conversation. Finally you come around to John, the one who spoke. The pounding in your ears shoots back to unholy decibels, and you have to fight. No, not fight. Not yet.

You hiss under your breath. “Tell no one. Probably on penalty of death.”

John sighs, both in breath and in his shoulders. He’s no longer frowning, and he looks tired like this. The bags under his eyes paired with the firmness of his stance are familiar to you, and you feel it chip away at your icy exterior. His expression befits someone farther from your age, and you find yourself frowning even deeper. What is he, to know what you are? A soldier? He’s too rough to be an official, but he’s definitely stationed at the capital.

Wait… the goggles around his neck, the smaller blue dragon built for speed that’s obviously not seen much combat, the fact that there would definitely not be a random dragon just lounging about up here? He’s a messenger. 

The idea dawns on you like the last bit of sunlight gripping onto the edges of the horizon, and you blink. Oh. Wait, so… he saw… oh no. He’s seen so much, flying over battles and carrying letters. That’s how he knows. 

“Yeah, yeah. Why would I tell, anyway?” He replies, and you have to shake your head, having forgotten for a minute that the two of you were having a conversation. 

The question is still stupid, though. Maybe his apparently outstanding character is obvious to others around him, but you haven’t had evidence put in front of you yet. 

“People want to kill me,” you say after a beat of silence. “Families. You seem to know about me, it’s not a far throw to see who wants to, and will pay a hefty sum to find out.”

“Guess that was a stupid question,” he remarks. A small grin is pulling at the corner of his mouth, for just a second, and you can see Dave twitch behind him. You ignore him, though. For the first time since coming up to this bridge, you feel like breathing is more possible. Something about the way this idiot says the things he says makes him seem genuine, and trustworthy. You still don’t know about the witch, but this one is no longer frowning at you. Is he on your side? 

“Yes, I think so,” you say, and let your frown relax for just a second before suddenly John is grinning, and patting you on the shoulder. There’s a silent conversation or understanding between you, fleeting and almost gone in a matter of moments, and Dave makes a noise. 

“Do I get to know what this is all about?” He asks, frowning at the two of you under his visor. John chuckles a little, and walks over to him. 

“No, Dave. Just be hush hush, like Jade said,” he says back. 

“Why?”

“I personally? Can’t tell you that. Try asking him. State secret.”

“You cryptic asshole,” Dave tells you, and bumps his fist with his own before walking over to you. John passes him, hops on the back of the blue drake, and takes off. They really do go fast, it seems, as the rider shoots over the edge of the bridge. There’s a puddle of something on the bridge, and there seems to be quite a few scratch marks despite Dave’s monitoring. 

He speaks before you can say anything. “Equius is a terrible drake to maintain. Secretes an oil that helps him go through water fast, but he’s messy as all fuck. Course John just manages to blow that shit right off, and wears waterproof clothing and goggles, and can use air magic for speed.” Dave sighs. “Wish I could.”

“Oh,” you reply. Strider seems to be waiting for something. “What do you want?” The frown is back, full-force, on your face. 

“I kinda wanted to be in the loop. About why you ran away? And whatever John was just talking to you about,” he admits, surprisingly genuine. “I mean, John wanted to talk to you, even though he’s only gonna be here for another night. Three days at home and he wants to spend part of it making up with you instead of, for instance, being with his betrothed.”

Should you tell him? It probably can’t hurt. Dave seems like the kind of person to not go and tell everyone the hot news he just heard. At least, he seems like that kind of person when the information is sensitive. It actually kind of surprises you that Jade hasn’t told him already, her being directly in the central circle of the royal court. Maybe you’re a little paranoid, but you know how much people love gossip. 

Rose probably knows, you realize. And by proxy, the other Lalonde women also probably know, being so closely related to the powerful seer. Dirk seems to be the type to figure things out just by listening, or not care otherwise, and Kanaya fits into that category as well. Dave, though, is nosier than the others. He’s also the only one who cares who is simultaneously out of the loop. 

You don’t want to give it away if you don’t have to, but what if he finds out from someone else? The man standing in front of you, still, but shifting every now and then as you stare into the void of his visor, could be starting with you on a clean slate. Or he could find out from another person that you’re a fucking war ‘hero’ and hear rumors, and believe those instead. 

Why would you want him to hear from someone else? Why would you want him to hear something that makes you out to be something you’re not? 

“I was a military leader, essentially, in the war for several years,” you say, and he looks surprised to hear you speak after those five tense minutes of silence. “I got my title from the queen, who wanted someone to use who could be wasted.”

Dave looks like he’s heard enough, and is going to tell you to stop in case you reveal too much. He doesn’t want to, you can tell, by the way his hands hesitate to come up. 

“Most people don’t know that, though. But I was named for quite a few… things. A couple of those things, I actually did. What I did not do…” you break off, and realize that it’s been getting harder to breathe. The dragon rider holds out a hand, as if wanting to put it on your shoulder, but not knowing if it’s appropriate. 

“What I did not do…” you have to take a moment to breathe, again. You haven’t said it out loud, yet. “I did not intend for most of my battalion to be killed as part of a vengeance plot. There are noble families out for my blood, because I led their sons and daughters to death. This was all planned out by the royal advisors. That’s why I am…” 

You hesitate. Part of what you just said could get you killed, for treason, and you realize it too late. Breathing a little faster, you just decide to get it all out. Maybe that will make it feel like you can inhale a little more again. 

“Hiding. That’s why you’re in hiding,” Dave finishes for you, like he’s having a eureka moment. And he probably is. You gasp a little for breath. You were mostly wrong; having the information out there did not make it easier to be admitting it right now. 

“Hey man, are you okay?” Strider asks, and you come to the realization that you’re bending over a bit. 

“The queen was impressed with my skills at managing to preserve even less than half of my battalion, so she agreed to help me live in secrecy. I can’t command anymore, with my leg… but at least I’m out of the way. Less likely to get mad and tell people who is really at fault for thousands of people dying. Pays me a pretty sum every year to help me keep my mouth shut, too.”

And that… that made it easier. For good reason, though, you pull out your flask from the pocket on your belt, and lean your head back to take a few solid gulps. It is a relief, you know, to have all the weight off your own shoulders. 

“That’s some heavy information, Vantas,” Dave says. He sounds scared, like he wasn’t ready for the responsibility of the information, and then he sounds steeled and satisfied, like he’d been expecting it. He’s just a racer, a dragon rider, just an entertainer. He’s never seen war, never been under fire. And he’ll be entering at least a brief age of mild peace because of what you did, in how you- 

“I suspect you deserve some kind of reprieve after all that. A few short years, treated like trash?” His tone is weirdly optimistic, and you don’t know which part of the sentence made it sound that way, but it surprises you a little out of your moment of deep turmoil. 

“What are you talking about?” You ask, reasonably. He gives you a look like that’s a stupid question. 

“Well, I’m just pretty sure a festival is exactly what you need,” he talks over you. “For all that secret sharing you just did.” He picks up your jacket, and unfolds it gently. Holds it out for you to slip your arms into. As you do, curious, he makes a clicking noise with his tongue on his teeth. A large movement comes toward you out of the corner of your eye, and he pats your shoulder. 

“You saw how well the festival ended up treating me last time,” you retort, and you’re not sure why you’re accepting his assistance but he also helps hook the shoulder cape on again, and a couple of the metal braids that had gotten tangled. How does he know how to do this?

“Yes, but maybe I’ll let you fly on my dragon if you agree to come,” he says easily. Hold on, since when did you express the opinion that you even wanted to consider riding Aradia? 

“Why would I want to do that?” You ask him, and jerk away. He lets his hands fall, sensing the breach of personal space has a time limit before detonation, and flicks his visor up for just a moment, so you can see his sincerity. 

“Everyone wants to. Besides, it’s easier than walking, and you would be making your mother happy,” he hums in his same flat monotone. He shunts the visor back down, and holds his hands out toward the dragon like a melodramatic salesperson. There he goes, playing the only card you can’t resist. How long did it take him to realize that your mother meant so much to you? Has everyone else noticed, too? You’re skittish, like a cat, and suddenly revealing all of your weaknesses. 

Grumbling all the while, though, you do it. You let him help you up onto the back of the dragon, and let him climb up behind you. Your crutches get strapped just under your legs, easy to remove, and he settles into the broad saddle with ease. Another click of his tongue, and the serpent is floating off the ground. A squeeze of his legs, and she’s taking off, flying above the town below. 

It’s not all enjoyable, and Aradia is undulating in an almost sickening way that you’re not used to, a flag-fluttering version of horseback. It is, however, fast, and you feel free-floating. Maybe that’s the adrenaline talking, but you haven’t felt this interested in being alive since your leg was blown off. Dave doesn’t hold your waist, but he does cage his arms around you in order to hold the saddle grips. 

You suppose that alone, he could fly without even holding on. It’s amazing that even with your taller sitting height he can hook his chin over your shoulder to see. 

A rapid descent and you’re not even thinking about Dave at your back as the town rushes toward you. With a flourish, though, Aradia lands in an open spot. Dave helps you down, and unstraps your crutches. Free to be mobile, but needing a moment to register what just happened, you stand and wait for him. Looking around, you realize you’re back by the same area with all the tables. It’s darker down here in the canyon, and there are several fires and many lanterns lit. 

“Wanna grab some grub, and maybe try meeting Jade again?” Dave asks once he’s waved Aradia away, and it instantly kills whatever elated feeling you got from flying. 

Right. Jade. 

“Without running away this time?” He adds, with a hearty laugh.

“Okay,” your mouth agrees, before your brain can consult, and you’re tense and frowning again. 

Dave doesn’t say anything about it, but he does pace you when you head for Jane’s booth. She’s selling more bread, and you pick up some of that, as well as sausage she’s roasting. Dave waves a couple fingers at Jane, and she hands him the food and points him toward the tavern owner, who has a table with tankards on it like the one Dave brought you earlier. 

He balances the food on one arm, and the ale on the other, and the two of you find and sit at a table. 

Something like companionable silence exists between the two of you, now. A connection is there that wasn’t before. It’s aggravating that this has to happen every time you share personal information with someone, but it actually feels okay this time. Mostly okay. Until you see the witch again.

“You ran away before I could introduce myself!” A familiar voice whines, and you look up. Of course, Jade is standing there. Of course, you see Dave wave her over to his side out of the corner of your eye. Surprisingly, though, she’s alone. You’re not sure what made you think it, but you were kind of expecting a little bit of an entourage. You’re already forming a good excuse to leave their company as soon as possible, but then you remember your agreement to Strider. 

Your past military training allows you to open your mouth for a curt reply, instead of hesitating. If you were standing, you’d be at attention but apparently your body settles on rolling back and firming your shoulders as she comes around to face you from Dave’s side of the table. There’s a futile attempt on your part to stare her down, but no matter how futile, you still try. 

“You had to run away before I could make my full introduction! It’s almost night, I was wondering where you two were.” She says, with something resembling an amiable smile.

Casting a glance up at the sky, you see how dark it’s gotten. Dave looks up, too, and he scatters mentally with the combined subtlety of a six-horse team and a warhorn. Shooting up from his seat, he sends you an apologetic glance before dusting off his (now you notice, ceremonial again) clothing. “I am so sorry to leave like this. But I’m late. Rose is gonna fucking kill me.” He waves a little, and runs off into the crowd. Another ceremony, maybe? Mother had mentioned something about one being on the last day. 

Left with Jade, you think you might throw up from the tension collecting in your abdomen. 

“You seem like you’re done with enough of your dinner,” Jade says, and you realize you are. “So let’s walk.”

It’s a good idea, especially if she wants to talk. Dave wouldn’t have left her alone with you if she meant any harm, right? She picks up your plate and tankard and deposits them in the bucket at Jane’s stand while she waits for you to stand. This one, also, is very good at matching your pace as she walks, and you crutch along. Something about the pair of you clears a path, and you can’t help but look at her sideways. 

“So,” She begins, and directs you down a walkway that you know will be well-lit but little-traversed. It will lead back toward the main festival ground from the first day. Okay. “I would like to… formally introduce myself.” 

Jade pauses at the top of a small bridge, and turns to you, and curtsies deeply. How… proper. “Jade Harley, second witch in her Majesty’s Royal employment. It is a pleasure to meet you, Colonel.”

Short, succinct, and proving you right, the introduction prompts you to utter one of your own. Sort of. “You’ve heard my introduction, it’s… nice to meet you as well, Miss Harley,” you say, a little rudely, and she laughs out loud. 

“Call me Jade,” she says, containing her giggles, and maybe she is really harmless. A flash of green and glowing white in her eyes, and maybe not. 

Jade begins to walk again, and strolls the both of you through another walkway and further down the path. “The queen mentioned that if I were to see you while I was here, to give you her well wishes,” the witch hums, and waves a hand in the air vaguely. “Well, she said ‘whale fishes’ but you know Meenah, she just can’t give up those silly puns unless she’s reading an address.” The way Jade talked about the queen using her first name stung you a little. And well wishes? Well wishes when she dropped you here under salary for keeping quiet? Yeah, that definitely sounded like her. She didn’t want you to forget about the context of your dismissal from the armed forces. 

Jade sees the flinch on your face, and sighs. “Yes, I know.” You believe her. Stopping in the mouth of the alley that leads back out into the crowded main square, you level her with a look. 

Yes, you know she can’t afford to feel guilty herself about anything. Yes, you know she has a lot of power. And yes, you know she has no obligation to want to fully understand and emotionally invest, to any degree, in your current plight. You have it good, by some accounts. Why the queen hasn’t decided to just have you killed yet is probably almost based entirely on your use as a beacon of hope and favor from the plentiful poor in her kingdom and the capital city. 

The witch looks at you, and you glare at her. Through her inhumanly green eyes, you can see that which you were looking for, as well. She can probably smell your sweat, and nerves. “I hope you do know,” you tell her, honestly, and allow yourself to be open. “I also hope you understand how much power you have over me right now.”

“You didn’t need to say it,” she easily replies, and that flicker is in her eyes. Past the guile and mischief, you can see an element of seriousness even greater than your own gets to, sometimes. What has she done for the royalty since the war began? Or what has she seen? “I was hoping we could have an understanding, Karkat Vantas. And that we could get along.”

You stay quiet. An understanding, yes. A friendship is a little farther off. But she’s blameless, essentially. She was only the messenger for the threat and even though she has so much power, with her knowledge, she hasn’t chosen to exercise it at all. 

“We can have an understanding, if you like,” you reply, knowingly cagey, and choose to move forward. There is relief in her eyes, and she turns as you pass. The two of you make your way through the crowd, and someone on the front row of benches stands and makes room for you to sit, graciously.

The third day ceremony is just about to start, and as Jade sits next to you, she pulls a letter from one of her billowing black sleeves. “Also, Sir Captor wanted this to get to you,” she leans in and murmurs, pressing the paper into your hands. Sollux? It’s a surprise. Is it an update on the queen? He’s a knight now? You don’t open the letter right this moment, and nod, slipping it into the inside pocket of your jacket. 

For now, you’re distracted by the event taking place. It’s a warm night, with a bit of a cool breeze, and the crowd goes silent and shivers as the two brothers land gracefully on the dirt, seemingly from nowhere. Their face paint is back, and both are once again crusted with jewels and gold. This time, as well, they’re dripping with golden ribbon, that seems to fall smoothly no matter their position. A small band of percussive instruments starts up, with a couple of string players plucking firmly. A lone flute player makes a melody. 

The riders dance, and you can’t hope to describe any of it. Fluid motions, sweeping of arms and drawing of blades that cross and glint in the light. Dave and Dirk walk around each other, as if in a duel, and each check on their right heel on the fourth step, spin, and shove their blades in the ground. As they do this, the twin serpents descend from the sky and swirl around them. 

From there it’s a little harder to see what’s going on inside the circle, as the serpents dance with their partners, forming shapes and spirals in the air over them. They somehow match movements, and both brothers can be seen doing synchronized flips and turns, stepping over and around the other to complete intricate footwork. 

At some point, the dance must reach a climax, because the steady beat of twin pitched drums accelerates, and the crowd starts to clap. The movements of the two brothers increases until it’s almost a blur, and you wonder what kind of magic it is until you see the dragons in the air spinning faster than you can make out actual forms. A light resonates from the dragons, and twin bolts of fire and ice shoot from the light, slowing down until a great cloud of steam is covering the area. 

The crowd cheers more, and you look over to see Jade clapping eagerly. A blue shape enters the haze, and a great bubble of wind blows away the fog, somehow not extinguishing the lamps. It’s John, wearing similar ceremonial garb, and holding a hand between the brothers. The crowd seems very excited to see him, as well, and somehow you sense that the ceremony has ended as a light mist rains down over the crowd.

They all bow, and wave, and seem to almost teleport away in a shower of sparks and confetti. The town’s overseeing dignitary, the Earl of Egbert, stands there, and it’s now that you notice a startling resemblance between him and John. 

Before you can think much about it, Jade is pulling your arm to stand. The fences around the square have been magically removed, and there’s now a larger band of musicians. A drummer starts something, someone rings a bell, and someone strikes a gong. A huge cheer goes up, and you stand. As you find your feet, the benches behind you disappear, and reform farther out. Several barrels of what you’re certain is wine appear, and you glance around for the caster. Roxanne Lalonde is standing in the center, lightly gesturing at the items as if moving things like this is child’s play. 

Just as she finishes putting out the last table of cups, flagons, and tankards, the band starts up a merry jig. What seems like a majority of the town’s young and old race to the plaza, and dancing begins. You let Jade pull you a little and make your way to the wine. There’s not a line, yet, and she holds some for the both of you as you move to sit. 

You won’t be dancing right now. 

Roxy Lalonde is the first to join you, and is soon swept up into a hug by John, who seems to come from nowhere again. Noticing their engagement earrings makes you do a double-take. Dirk and Dave come along, albeit a bit slower, with Dave still wiping most of the paint off of his face. Rose Lalonde makes her way over a bit later. 

They filter in and out for joining revelry, sometimes even offering to dance with you. You decline every time, but still manage to enjoy yourself a little, watching them carry on, all of them friends. Are you one of them? Dave stays next to your side for most of the rest of the night, also claiming to be abysmal at dancing in a crowd, even with two proper legs. It’s nice.

Maybe you could consider friends again. Maybe it’s just the wine talking. 

At some point, you see your mother laughing and showing Dirk the steps to a folk dance that originated at your birthplace. He takes it in good stride, and you actually manage a smile at seeing your mother having such a good time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had some spare time, got another chapter written for my back log, and wanted to post up again! (three days since your last chapter, marlena, what the heckie??) I apologize again for the staggering of the chapters and the lack of schedule! Here's some joy to make up for it, though! Finally Karkat's not 100% upset 100% of the time! (now it's more like 78 haha)
> 
> I still love you all, thank you for you kind comments and encouragement and all that! I hope everyone's weekend is going well!


	7. EPISODE 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat wakes up with one hell of a headache, opens the letter given to him by Jade, and has to confront some difficult subjects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with some art! I drew a couple of Dave's [outfits](http://royalrastafariannaynays.tumblr.com/post/141685283760/drew-some-of-daves-outfits-from-my-fic-in-name) from the first couple chapters, just cuz I wanted to! Sorry for the bad picture, I don't have a scanner or a tablet so these were drawn and inked and photographed! 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy the chapter!

A bird is singing about the morning when you arrive home. The sun is peeking out over the hills, and you’re sorer than you have been in some time. Underarms aching from what was essentially an entire day of crutching, you wobble a little through the front door. Mother, having gone home much earlier, is just waking up. Wrapped in a blanket, she’s seated in front of the window and taking a hot cup of coffee. 

Today, even after the festival, she is still planning on working, because your mother is nothing if not a steady smith who finds pleasure in her profession.

“Hello, small one,” she says from where she is, and you send her a little clumsy wave before closing and locking the door. She’s started calling you that again recently. Some little raw part of your emotions likes it when she gives you one of the nicknames from your youth.

“Did you have a good night? I saw you visiting with those… Friends?” She pegs you with a look that’s half-concerned and half happy for you no matter what, and you pause to consider. 

Were they your friends, now? Acquaintances, at least. Jade wanted to be your friend, you think. Dave Strider is the closest thing you might have to a friend here. Besides Kanaya Maryam, of course (even though you barely ever see her). There is a kind of peace, understanding, and calming quality to her presence. Oh well. You’ll never make a little bit of a point to ask. 

It’s a little more difficult to think of the answer to your mother’s question when you’ve had as much to drink as you have. You figure it might be difficult to think about no matter what, and you notice that your mother is staring at you in a kind of amused way. 

“Long night, son?” She asks, and you look away, a little embarrassed. Maybe you should have seriously considered Strider’s offer to fly you home. Firelight had glanced off of his hair, and you’d refused out of some inkling you’re not really sure about. If you were the analyzing type, it’d most likely boil down to needing time alone after a night surrounded by unfamiliar folks. The festival had ended little more than two hours ago, when it was still dark and sunrise was only a notion in the back of your head. It had taken you some time to walk home after Dave’d shrugged off the denial of assistance. 

“I think I should retire,” you recommend for yourself, and she nods with a grin. Another wave to your mother, and you let all of your scattered thoughts separate and dissolve into nothing. You very carefully hang your dress uniform across the back of your chair, to be folded in the morning. A hand is there, picking them up from you to be inspected before the garments are re-packed. 

Oh. You hadn’t even noticed your mother following you into the room. “You looked very handsome tonight, small one.”

“That nickname expired years and years ago…” you think fuzzily for a second, and chuckle to yourself. “Madjem,” you finish, and she chuckles as well. Something and something else happens and you’re collapsed face-first on your bed, crutches leaning on the headboard where you can get to them when you wake. 

“Sleep this off, son. I’ll wake you for lunch,” you hear her say, but everything is already getting dark. 

“Madjem?” You ask the air, in case she’s still there. 

“Yes, son?”

“I had, I had… I think I had a good time tonight. Thank you for asking.”

She laughs, then, and pats you on the back of the head before leaving the room.

 

* * *

 

When you wake up, you hate yourself. The light of the sun is clawing at your eyes through a hole in one of the curtains. The sound of the forge, the sharp clinking of a hammer, stabs into your skull and you grope around for a blanket to pull over your eyes. Unfortunately the only thing that gets covered is the floor, when you fall on it. Pulling on the blanket only succeeded in helping you tumble down from the bed when you managed to not only fail at dislodging it, but then sweep it from under your own back.

Gods, this is why you don’t drink. A groan comes from somewhere, and it takes you a second to realize that it’s your own voice, and you’re face-down on the wood planks of the bedroom. It takes a few minutes to push yourself up to sitting without feeling the urge to heave everything from your stomach. Light falls across your legs as you manage to get upright, and you can judge by the position of it that the time is somewhere about midday. After a brief contemplation of ritual suicide to end the suffering you’ve imparted on your body, you think it might be a good idea to get up. It takes a good ten minutes, but you elevate to standing, and get a crutch under your arm to make yourself ambulatory. 

Thank the Light that your mother is working, or she’d have been the one to wake you. And it would not have been pleasant. Well, this isn’t pleasant but your mother would have made it intentionally less so; she'd probably come into the room, whistling, banging a pot, ripping the blankets off of you, all with a smile. 

Alright, time to get dressed. You manage that much, despite being horribly sore. It’s nothing you’re not used to, however, after years of military training. You wash your face in the bowl of blessedly cool water on the table in the corner, and shield your eyes to go outside to handle some business. It’s not good enough, the sun is very bright, and you end up vomiting as well. Your mother’s house doesn’t have indoor plumbing, but it does have drainage under the shithouse. Modern marvels, as it were, and you don’t have to smell the puke making its way to wherever it goes. 

After all that’s done, you can go inside for some water, and some cheese and bread. The stew over the fire doesn’t look quite done yet. Not as if you’d be able to stomach it this morning anyway. You take a hard pass on the coffee despite not sleeping more than five fitful hours, and sit at the table to eat. 

Then a knock comes on the door. Strange. 

When you amble over to answer it, you find that it’s Kanaya Maryam. She smiles at you beatifically, and holds out a few letters, tied together with some kind of twine. 

“Here you go. I was heading out this way, and thought I might stop by to bring you a few letters I saw at the post office. I apologize for not spending too much time with you in the second half of the festival, but I was relegated to watching after the younger children this year and making sure they got to bed on time.” She seems genuinely apologetic. Maybe she is - you remember something about friends from before you went to sleep. 

“It’s alright,” you assure her, a little curtly. The sun is very bright. She smiles again anyway, and does a little bow before making to turn back around. 

“I must be off then, Colonel,” she says. 

“Call me Karkat, please,” you say, quickly, scrambling for conversational purchase.

“Alright, then, Karkat.” Kanaya nods at you, shakes your hand, and walks away. 

Your attention as soon as she disappears behind the closing door is immediately diverted to the letters in your hand. All of them are for your mother. The paper weighs heavy in your hands, and you have no idea why you think you should be remembering something. Letters, mail, last night maybe? Last night, letters, Jade handing you an envelope and - oh.

As fast as you can without throwing the letters in your hand, you put them on the kitchen table, and rush over to your dress uniform jacket, which is hanging next to your bedroom door. It should be here… and… ha! Your fingers brush paper, despite a bad angle, and you pull it out of the too-deep inner pocket of the jacket. Why did she have to hang the thing so high? 

And yet, even after your efforts to get the damn thing, you find yourself not wanting to open it. What could it say? He’s supposed to be giving you the cold shoulder, right? He’s supposed to be heading up here before the winter to give you your stipend, so why is he writing you now?

What could he possibly have to say? That he… rejects or regrets your friendship? That he has substituted someone else, someone less familiar, to deliver your parcel before the winter comes? Sollux. Is it the depression, the stress, the loneliness? Why does it hurt you so much to think that he might not ever want to see you again? He was your… Sollux was your only real friend, there, in the queen’s forces. He was all you had. 

You go outside, then, letter stuffed in the pocket of your shirt, and you hoof it out to the cliff. Not the exact edge of the cliff, no. But you stand there, and the wind whips around you, and you collapse to sit on your favorite rock. You need to open this letter, because he may have news from the kingdom. What if the queen couldn’t protect you, and her spies uncovered a plot to finally have you murdered? This town has been so good to you, you couldn’t have anything happen to them, either. 

How selfish of you to think about your trivial friendship, when it could be a letter carrying warning for you? A letter from your old friend would definitely be less suspicious, right?

Cursing, you yank out your knife and open the thing. The paper tears too easily under your fingertips as you sit on the rock, just past the edge of the swishing field of tall, fresh spring grass, and just before the slope that would carry you to a swift end were you to slip on it. 

 

* * *

 

_Karkat,_

_My son iis five years old, now, and doesn’t seem to want to get to know me very well. Iit’s getting better, though, and my wiife was very happy to see me home._

 

The first line already hits you like a knife to the gut. So. This is a personal letter. Part of you heaves in relief, and another part of you sinks in something like sorrow.

 

_Ii hope you’re well, and acceptiing help. Ii know how much of a stubborn horse’s ass you can be. Iit was hard to accept help for my shell shock when Ii arriived home, and iit was even harder to fiit myself back iinto theiir liives. But Ii did. Ii stiill think of you, fondly as a friiend who stuck by me iin the war. A friiend who saved my life. And the liives of so many others, KK._

_Miituna says hello, iin hiis own way. He’s also very glad to see me home, and wanted to thank you for managiing to keep me aliive. Agaiin, iin hiis own way._

_Ii’m sorry Ii could not deliiver thiis iin person; Ii was planniing to come and viisiit early, and see how you fared, but Ii needed to stay and care for my wiife. We’re expecting a second chiild! A second chiild, Karkat, iit’s fuckiing amaziing. Wiithout you, Ii wouldn’t be here to experiience this._

_Send reply iif you wiish, but Ii do not requiire iit. Agaiin, Ii hope you’re doing well. Ii’ll be by wiith the agreed upon deliivery come autumn, before wiinter returns._

_-SC_

 

* * *

 

Eyes dry, you sit and contemplate burning the letter entirely. Something about this feels final. You’re truly glad for him and his wife, that they welcome a new child soon. He seems very happy, and you can’t help but sting with jealousy at the fact that he can be content, and you cannot. Instead of yelling your frustration, like you once might have, you think instead about how oddly formal the letter was in comparison with the way that Sollux speaks. His wife is a good influence on his erratic speech patterns, apparently. She couldn’t get rid of that pesky habit of doubling his ‘i’s, though. 

Numb, you stash the letter in your pocket again, and make your way back to the house. But wait… you can’t possibly destroy this. He wrote you as a friend, and you feel like a real brute to know that you thought the worst, instead of just that he might have wanted to talk. He had planned to visit, even. You’ll write back, sometime, ask him about his son and his wife. This friendship… you find yourself comparing it to the one that you claim to have formed with the young miss Maryam. 

Sollux has been through so much with you. Blood and sweat and tears and explosions and taciturn struggling. You’re folding the dress uniform, and slip the letter just on top of it before laying it down in the chest of your things. Bonds forged alongside combat are deeper than just simple social bonds, you’ve heard. It makes you tense up to consider that you had almost blown it off entirely. You feel as if you might vomit again, and this time it’s not just the wine from the previous night. 

The amount of mood changes you’ve brought onto yourself today freeze you inside. 

Your mother finds you sitting at the table and staring at the fire two hours later, a blank piece of parchment in front of your hands and a fountain pen nearby. By now, you’ve had more bread and cheese, and water, and you’re feeling astronomically better than when you woke up.

She stands, silent, in the open door. There’s something lightly jingling in her hands, when she shifts her weight. 

“Have you been awake long, dear? I’m sorry I didn’t come to wake you, like I said I would.”

“A few hours. It’s fine,” you say back, and look in her direction. You don’t know what she sees, but she lets the door close behind her. She doesn’t put down her cargo, however. 

“I was going to start on the leg today,” she drops on you. You find yourself not feeling much of anything at all, at that. Only a week ago, you might have shouted at her for such a thing. But you don’t. There is a little bit of breath-catching, though, and you look away from her. 

“Oh?” You ask.

“Yes,” she says, “Dirk was a dear and offered to come over today, to start on it.”

The stillness is making you uncomfortable and you move to stand. “By all means, then, do so,” you mutter, and make a grab for one of the crutches. 

She’s quiet for a second, thinking. “I thought I might let you know. In case…” 

You’re standing, now, and you look up at her, fixing your mother with a blank stare. “In case what?” The question comes out harsher than you intended, but she doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even blink. 

“In case you were going to react badly again,” she says just as harshly, and you wince visibly. Her voice gentles with the next thing she says. “I know what this means to you.” 

“I don’t think you do, mother.”

“It means you might be mobile again, small one,” she says, still gentle. 

“I told you that you didn’t quite kno – “ 

“It also means that you can fully restart your life.”

You’re stunned into silence. _What?_

“I know… I know how much you’re holding onto being the way that you are,” she tells you. And it’s definitely not a question this time. It feels like a slap to the face. 

You don’t say a word. You don’t dare. _When did she notice?_

“You don’t want to change, because you left a part of yourself on that battlefield,” she adds, and you don’t think you can take it anymore. Closing your eyes means that you don’t have to see hers anymore, so you do that. 

“It’s okay to change, small one.” She reaches over, and squeezes your shoulder. “It’s okay to move on, past it. Past them.”

And you officially can’t take it anymore. You don’t speak, and twitch your clavicle in a feeble attempt to get her warm hand off of you. It’s too much right now. Thankfully she seems to realize that, and it satisfied with her ability to make a point, and draws away. 

“I’ll be in the workshop, son. Don’t go too far away.”

“Okay,” you reply, still not meeting her eyes. 

Once she’s gone, you set about removing your shirt so that you don’t overheat, and head outside. One of the things that’s always brought you relief from stress? Chopping firewood. Your mother goes through a lot of it. And it seems like an amazing day for chopping wood.

It’s a little difficult to get a good heft on the axe, with your leg, but you manage by propping the stump on a high piece of tree behind the house. It’s almost like you’re actually standing on your own two feet. A facsimile of normality. 

Something about the metal leg isn’t sounding so bad, and you're through a few logs, when you hear a loud whistle. As you twist to see whoever it was, all the numb contentment disappears, replaced almost immediately by irritation. Dave Strider is standing there, grinning. His brother is disappearing around the side of the house, toward the forge. 

“Gonna put an eye out with those, Vantas!” He calls at you, walking closer, and you really hope he’s talking about the axe. Or maybe your arms. It’s not near cool enough for anything else to be plausible. 

“Your arms are surprisingly muscled, for having spent that much time abed when you first got here,” Dave tells you, and walks around you to perch himself up upon the pile of wood. 

“How the fuck do you know about that, Strider? You weren’t even here.” You go back to chopping wood, turned halfway away from his vantage point. _Chop. Clunk. Chop, chop. Clunk._ New piece of wood. 

“Rumor spreads easily in a town like this,” he reminds you helpfully. If you didn’t know that he never smiled widely, you think he might be smirking. “No secret that Smith Vantas’ son came back from the war and recovered in the sack like some weak fucking lamb learning to stand again.”

Maybe you thought wrong, maybe he’s definitely not a friend. You hiss through your teeth at him, turning sharply to face him with as much venom as you can muster. “Learn to hold your tongue, Strider. Not everyone thinks that it‘s silvered.”

“What if I don’t want to?” He teases, and now you can hear the smile. It barely touches his mouth, and you just now notice that the visor is present, blocking you from seeing his eyes. One of his eyebrows is raised, however. You can see that much. 

Enraged by that, your earlier stress, and his crap, you turn away. 

_CHOP. Chop. Clunk, chop._

“What if you held my tongue for me?” Dave asks, then, and it sparks something in you. A hot instinct that flashes up from the base of your spine and ebbs into your arms, down to twitching fingers on the handle of the axe. How dare he… how could he inexplicably know?!

You turn back to him, ready to grip his collar in your fist, eyes feeling hot and teeth gritted. Snarling, you meet his eyes. The visor is flipped up, now, and he looks… concerned. How many people are going to be fucking concerned about you today? Instead of the smug and flirtatious smirk you expected, you get pity. As if shocked by the difference between your thoughts and reality, you calm down almost dramatically. You fall back onto the stump you were using for support, using one hand to not overbalance and fall. The axe gets dropped somewhere to your right. 

“You’ve chopped enough wood to warm a legion here. What’s the rush?”

He’s right. It’s a pretty sizeable pile. 

“A bad mood,” you grumble back. You reach up to massage your temples. 

“That can’t be all of it?” he guesses, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. 

“I don’t have to reveal shit to you, Strider,” you retort, and stop rubbing your temples. A sick, tight feeling lands in your chest, and you want to scrape it out. The numbness was better than this. 

Dave is quiet for awhile, while you regain your ability to fully breathe, and you hear some wood shift. Maybe you should organize the pile instead of just eternally chopping. He’s probably frog-perching right on top of the mound of wood, watching you like an owl. 

“Well, you want help?” He asks, surprising you. He’s not asking about why you’re mad? Are you fabricating pushiness in him now, too?

 _What?_ “What?”

“I could help you with some of this wood if you don’t mind the company. Looks like it could take awhile to stack, and the stack is all the way over there,” Dave explains, pointing to a place about twenty feet away, where an open set of doors shows the inside of the wood shed. It’s nearly empty, you can see, so you’re glad you got a wild hair today. 

“I’m guessing that helping for you involves standing around and not doing much work at all,” you say to him. 

“Wow, you must think really well of me,” Dave replies, and you head a rustle of fabric and look up. He’s hung his shirt and stole across a tree branch, carefully. He stands before you, oddly tanned everywhere and more physically fit than your subconscious basically expected, with the lean form under his clothing. There’s no reason to think about Strider’s musculature, except to wonder whether you could beat him in a fair fight. Looking at him now, you could still win. 

He has a surprising amount of scars for someone with such a life as his, but you imagine he’s taken a few falls and gotten into some fights while in his racing career. 

“I’ll move these. Maybe you should… take a rest, you did a lot of waking yesterday,” he tells you, picking up a small armful of wood and walking over to neatly (somehow) deposit it in the shed. His words only sound half-convinced, like he’s not good at telling people what to do, but he’s determined to look out for you.

The idea that he’s doing the work for you because of your disability still makes you bristle, and one of your hands tightens. 

“I won’t have you thinking I’m fucking incapable, Strider,” you warn him, and make to stand up. 

Of course, he walks over and pats your shoulder. It feels like a halfhearted attempt to make you sit back down, and the gesture alone is enough to make you do what he wants. 

“I wasn’t offering you an option, Vantas,” he says and punctuates it with a poke to the chest. He takes the small water skin off his belt, making the rest of the items and trinkets on it jingle, and pushes it into your chest. 

“Drink this,” he tells you, and gives you a look like you have no choice. This is probably not true if you were persistent enough. 

Maybe taking a break isn’t so bad, you think, when you move to flex your right leg and shoulders and find yourself still and thirsty. You sip on the water skin, finding that no matter how much you drink from it, it never empties. It doesn’t take Dave much time at all to complete his task, eons faster than it would have taken you alone. 

“Now,” he says, walking back over to you once the gate is closed. You’re momentarily distracted by the sweat on his shoulder and how much of it there is, before you’re able to reel yourself in and restrain your impulse to stare. 

“What?” You answer dumbly, tilting your head. He takes the water skin from your hands. 

“You wanna head around the front and check on the progress?” 

You find yourself wanting to, for whatever reason. 

 

* * *

 

Dave and you round the front of the house, clothes all donned, and both pleasantly sore from the continuous motions of the work you were doing. 

There’s some noise coming from the forge, an almost hushed discussion on one side and the other person nearly shouting with how she’s speaking. The loud one is your mother. Like mother, like son, right? Dirk is pointing something out in the design on the workbench, and your mother is nodding and saying how much she likes it. 

They both fall quiet when the two of you come around to where they are. Your mother looks apprehensive, and past Dirk’s well-placed façade, you can’t tell what he’s feeling. Dave pats you on the shoulder and walks up to them, similarly blank-faced. 

“So how are you guys doing on this?” He asks, and your mother hesitates, waiting until you walk up and run your fingers over part of the schematic. 

“We’ve got the middle part of the leg worked out, in theory,” she says. “Ankle joint up to knee joint.”

“Oh,” is all you say. This is the first time you’re actually looking at the design. It’s almost too good, despite how simple it is. Two joints, a pole between them, some slightly complex machinery on the foot to make it flexible, and the knee joint is like something you’ve never seen. You know that it’s impossible right now to connect prosthetic limbs directly and make them work with the body. Magic can only go so far, and your leg held enough of your soul that attaching a prosthetic limb and having it interact properly, with magic, is too far of a thing to work. 

“We started by using the existing plans, but there were a few things off, and we had to redesign,” Dirk provides, gesturing loosely to a few numbers on the paper, and their corresponding listing in the margin notes.

That being said, the knee is based on pressure and momentum, you think, and it looks like it would… actually work. You’d have a limp for some time, but… it’s a leg. You could walk on it without crutches. 

The idea is almost too much, and once again you find it hard to breathe. You need to move on, you can start over. But do you really want to? Would it make everything before that meaningless?

The thoughts are swirling too much, and you think you make your apologizes before turning and moving into the house. Dave doesn’t follow you. You don’t write back to Sollux. You go straight to bed. You sleep for too long. 

Do you really want to start over?

_Can you?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY! So. I'm working on getting more chapters on backlog, blah blah blah. I might start updating on a weekly basis again? But I'm not sure. Hope everyone liked the chapters, sorry it couldn't be happy for longer HAHAHA 
> 
> also happy easter to those that celebrate it!


	8. EPISODE 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat wakes up to the sound of an intruder in the house. Has the queen decided to finally have him killed off?

_The beast was beautiful. It felt sacrilegious, not only to call her a beast and equate her with an animal, but to even look at her. She was your enemy, though, and she was standing between you and a victory._

_Her name was ___._

_“Send out your leader, so that we may engage in singular combat,” she’d said in the minds of all of your troops. Golden tan in color, peach toward the face, a light pink in the webs of her wings and ruffles on her jaw. Magnificent, gigantic horns adorned with massive golden bangles and a nose dripping with rubies. You most likely didn’t stand a chance, but equal combat was all you could give her. She was weakened and she knew it, several javelins jutting from her back, and a few arrow holes ripped in her left wing._

_The beautiful creature was going to die and she knew it. This dragon, this mother of drakes and the soul partner of the single most beautiful knight you had ever seen, knew that she would die today. But like all dragons, she had her pride, and she wished for a duel. Her knight was lying dead on the ground in the cage of her four legs, protected until she ceased being warm._

_In the hush you stepped forward, drawing your steaming, bloody sickle from the face of the mountain troll it was in. Blue flecks sprayed out before you, and you held out one hand, a gesture of challenge to her. Several of your men, then still alive, tried to beckon you back, but this was your task. Your father’s voice in the back of your head was ashamed of you, but at the same time, you knew he would be proud. Doing her this one service, this beautiful, magnificent, towering dragon._

_“You are the leader.” She said it like it was one of the only truths left. And it was the truth, you wouldn’t lie to her._

_“I accept your request,” you said, “On the condition that there is no interference, no flight, and I get to keep my weapons.”_

_She snorted, and flame came out. “I have no swords to slash at you with. I fail to see the fairness.”_

_“Yes, milady, but you have yourself fire breath, claws, and great teeth,” you replied, and bowed a little, before shifting into an attack stance._

_The dragon snorted another plume of smoke, and acquiesced. “Very well, small one.” She called you by your mother’s nickname, and it made you flinch._

_And so it began._

_The duel was a blur, and you praised your own expert combat and dodging skills in avoiding, parrying, and then attacking right back. Everything else in the field was silence except for the plumes of flame, tearing of claws in dirt, and clashing of metal and scale armor._

_At one point, one of her great tail spikes shot out, and dragged almost slowly across your face. Red coursed over your vision, but the adrenaline suppressed the pain easily so that you could continue to fight._

_Finally, there was an opening. You had one shot, and if she anticipated it at all, you would definitely die. Not even the crows cried, and your left sickle managed to yank away one of her slashes, before you rolled beneath her._

_Short, simple, and she was slowed by pain. Your steel found her belly, and wedged between two of her natural armor plates. There was a sickening crunch, and suddenly you were covered in her hot blood, pouring down from the gap. A gasp rent the air, and a gurgle came from her mouth._

_You rolled from beneath the dragon before she collapsed in a spray of mud. And it was done. The great creature was downed, and the other side began their hasty retreat now that their most powerful token was lost, for now. You held up one hand to still your army from pursuing them. We must wait for orders, was the mantra in your head._

_Already shaking, you dove to the side and threw up. A wave of nausea hit you, and then a splitting headache. The dragon’s open eye pierced you when you looked to her, and she did not even give you a reason. What she gave you were images of her family. A dusky drake that looked just like her in shape; a sister. A great green male, her mate. A nest of eggs, precious, warmed by fire._

_You threw up again. The images kept coming, and you were filled with memories of her rider, her cause, her pain, and guilt overwhelmed you. A scream shouted over all of it, and as her eyes closed, it tapered into a cry. A cry for anything, a cry for help. There was nothing left in your stomach to come up, now. Digging her claws deep into your gray matter, she pulled from you her weakness, and pulled from you your knowledge of her name._

_Her voice in your head, soundlessly shrieking in pain and loss and her past. This dragon was… she was more than two thousand years old. Had lived and loved._

_And suddenly, all was silence for her._

_“Burn it all,” you screamed at the hands that held you up, and_

 

You wake with the inexplicable knowledge that someone is in the house with you. It’s not mother, she stayed in town for the night, doing hinge replacements. You should be alone. Barely breathing, you sit up and roll the blankets off of your legs as quietly as possible. There is a crash from the front room. A pot falls off the wall. A muffled muttering. If this is a spy or assassin from the Capitol, they’re not very good at their job. 

You had gone to bed early, and when you peek out of the window, the moon shows that it should be just after midnight. The door should have been locked and dead bolted. How did the thief undo the locks without waking you sooner? Magic? 

Creeping out of bed, you take the less creaky of your two crutches and tie a shirt around the foot, to muffle your movement. It’s a short and thankfully silent trip to your trunk, where you carefully kneel and remove one of your sickles from under everything else. It’s hard to not make any noise moving the things in there, but you manage. You hear another thud from the front room, and some footsteps. Heavy steps. So the intruder is cocky enough to think that it doesn’t matter if they’re heard.

Too cocky. They should have sent someone better. 

Something falls in the front room. A muttered curse. That was the broom. The broom is right next to your door. Quickly and silently as possible, you stand. The blood is racing in your veins, hot, pumping with adrenaline. And dread. And the battle calm. Your breath is hot in the air, and you’re careful to slide your forward foot instead of stepping. As you arrange yourself next to the door, the handle jiggles. 

Ready back foot, roll from toe to heel for good leverage, down to flat. 

The door opens just a slip, allowing a needle of light from outside to pierce the air. 

The intruder steps further through the door as you turn your body to push him into the wall just outside the frame. Your crutch becomes an auxiliary component of your own self as you pivot it to catch the man in the shin with two flat inches of pine. 

The man makes a horrible noise when the crutch connects, and his helmet falls off his head even as you use the new position of the crutch to get leverage to get in front of him, limiting escape. 

It’s Dave. 

The door handle cracks on wooden wall, and your sickle-bearing arm is already moving. 

The metal makes the most divine noise as it sings through the air, light and near impossible to see coming in the dark. You remember choosing this weapon for that reason. Ultralight, thin but enchanted to be nigh unbreakable. Blood gutters positioned to make slicing smoother, to make dual wielding less impractical. 

You just barely manage to alter the strength you put behind the blow, as he reels back and you pin him to the wall outside the door frame. A semi-circle of blade circles his throat, and you’re using the weight that you would have put on the now-abandoned crutch to push both of his hands above his head with one of your own. 

It was so instinctual, you have no idea how you got both of them in your grasp. Surprise definitely helped you here, you figure, when Dave’s whole body flexes, and you actually feel the intimidating amount of lean muscle he has.

“Fuck,” he gasps, and your eyes follow a trickle of blood down his throat. 

You can smell yesterday’s dinner on his breath, as he struggles for the air you pushed out of him. 

So Dave is the assassin. You were starting to trust him, too. What a fucking clever plot, but they’re not going to get you yet. He’s not trying anything. He could be moving his legs to easily disable you but he’s not. Is he not here to get under your skin and attack you? Attack your family? 

“Why are you here?! Who sent you?!” You hiss, practically spitting in his face. More pressure on his wrists, and Dave twitches in pain. 

“If you wanted me pinned to a wall, all you had to do was ask, Vantas,” he says instead. Chokes. And that’s not good enough. A twist, and you’re able to dig the sickle just a little further in. He flinches away from the splintering wood. 

There’s real fear in his eyes, and you put it there. Wild, like a deer with an arrow in its jugular. The panic he shoots at you is almost enough to make you falter. But that’s just what he wants, isn’t it? Catch you off guard. He already got into your house while you were asleep. You see no weapons on him, but strangulation or poison are often much better methods of killing just one person and not leaving too much evidence. 

“Wrong answer,” you growl. There’s the typical bile smell on his breath, panicked breathing. His heart rate dramatically increases, and you can feel it through your connected chests. 

“Your mom wanted me to come up and grab something she left on the table!” He’s saying, right in your face. Spit from hurried words hits your cheeks and nose, and the tone of his voice is wheedling. High-pitched, full of genuine emotion. He can’t fake the fear response in his eyes, the widening of the pupils. “I’m sorry man, I’m sorry, I thought this was her room!” He bleats. Restrained. A kitten. A lamb for slaughter. When you don’t move, his face pales even further, and his hands start to sweat in your grasp. 

You hear Aradia outside, pacing, claws scraping in the dirt and on the path. He hasn’t sent her in, yet. She’s making agitated noises. If he was here to kill you… surely she could take care of it, easily. Why isn’t he fighting back yet? Does he think you wouldn’t kill him, just because you considered him a friend? Why doesn’t he think you’ll kill him? Something metal clanks on the floor, and you take a second to look down. It’s… a key. Your mother’s key. 

She’d gotten it enchanted, you remember. That day she’d held it up to your face and waved it, saying that she’d gotten it enchanted to heat to white-hot in the hands of anyone who meant her ill. Dave’s hands look fine. So he didn’t steal it from her. How…

Glaring back at him, where he stands just at your height with you not standing full, you see it. He’s telling the truth. The fear is real, he’s sweating profusely and Aradia’s noises are getting progressively more agitated and the door… the door is open and nothing looks broken. But you can’t believe it. Not yet. 

“She told me to tell you that I need to get a book from the attic, if you woke up,” he says, and you’ve lost. It’s true, he’s telling the truth. That’s the phrase. “She taught me the trick for leveraging the door,” he adds, like he needs more proof. It helps, but he didn’t need it. 

Very carefully, you release his hands. Aradia goes quiet outside. She probably heard his decreased fear through their bond. Flexing your fingers, you use the hand as a support while you carefully remove the sickle from the wall. 

His breathing is still erratic as you wiggle the weapon, a few chips of wood coming out before you’re able to get it away from his neck and let it fall to the floor. It still has some old, old blood on it, mixing sickeningly with the fresh. Dave wilts once he’s free, and darts away under your arm. When he leaves your space, you feel a dramatic drop in your body temperature, and it makes you dizzy. Instead of looking at him, you lean on the wall and breathe. Suddenly it’s hard to maintain your balance, and you sink to your knee and stump. 

Forehead pressing against the shadow he left behind, you let yourself fall to sitting on the heel of your bare foot. 

Dave hasn’t moved for two minutes when you speak up. “I believe you,” you croak, and out of nowhere your chest is tight. Lungs not expanding, nails gripping your skin for dear life, you feel your entire body go rigid. A worried noise comes from somewhere to your left, near the doorway, and the moon has never been so bright as when it shines off the white dressing gown that only just manages to cover your knee. You have to close your eyes against the onslaught as the reflection turns into a nauseating swirl, and small pricks of sparkles come from the inside corners of your vision. 

“Are you alright?” Dave’s voice asks, and you open your eyes to tilt your head to the side. He’s moving rapidly, and it takes you a minute to realize that it’s actually you that’s moving, as your head and shoulders shake with the breaths you’re taking. Hyper… hyperventilating? Right? The healers called it that. 

“Doesn’t matter,” you gasp, and everything starts swirling again. You have to close your eyes right back up. 

“Uh yeah it does. You look like you’re going to pass out,” he replies, easily, and you’re amazed with how calm his voice is. How is it so calm when you just… when you… you… dear Light it’s hard to breathe? Keeping your head turned is making it harder, though, so you turn it back forward. 

“I almost…” you begin, and okay, guess it’s time for an apology, while you’re having some kind of pathetic visceral reaction. Your chest hurts. It hurts so bad. One hand moves to clutch in your dressing gown. 

“Come on, I need you to stand or something but I don’t think I’m supposed to touch you. You need to sit up straight,” he continues, like you didn’t speak, and it shocks something into you that he’s being so blasé. 

Anger, raw and red, blooms inside your ribs, and you’re snarling and facing where you think he is, again. Going as upright as possible, fixing that area with a hot glare, you respond. 

_“I ALMOST KILLED YOU, STRIDER.”_ The words are yelled, almost screamed with how hoarse you feel, from the back of your throat, using the last of your air. It’s like the floodgate opened on things that can go wrong, because you end up overcompensating for space under your hand, a spasm goes up your arm when it smacks too hard into the floor in order to support, and your vision just barely blacks out. 

An arm is under your shoulders when you get your vision back, and you know it’s Strider. He’s patting your chest lightly with one hand, and he obviously doesn’t know what to do in this situation because he’s shaking you pretty hard. “I know what you did, man, but you need to get sitting.”

“Just lean me on the fucking wall!” you snarl at him, again, and he almost drops you in his haste to acquiesce. Thankfully once you’re situated, he backs off. The smart thing to do. You almost killed him. Your first real friend here, and you almost killed him. Fucking Light. 

It seems like almost fainting knocked some breathing into you, though, because your chest doesn’t feel as tight anymore. 

There’s still blood dripping from Dave’s neck when he stands awkwardly in front of you, which makes you feel like you’re going to be sick. That after the vivid dream… god. Dave sees you looking at his neck, and reaches up to touch the cut. He looks at the blood on his fingers, and a bit of that fear from earlier is back in his face for just a few seconds before disappearing. 

For the first time since you freed him from your sickle, you look at his eyes. They’re… calculated, calm. Forced to be calm. It’s not comforting. 

“I’m fine, Vantas, thanks to your restraint.”

“No, thanks to me, you almost died in my bedroom!” You’re quick to say back, and have to measure a few breaths before you know you won’t spiral back to where you were minutes previous. The tremulousness that you can’t keep out of your voice makes you feel so vulnerable. You want him to feel something, show his fear again, anything.

“You pulled back, though,” he insists. 

You’ve had it now, though, you’ve had it. You will not go blameless for this. Not today. 

“I pulled back, but only because I managed to see you at the last fucking second. You’re more fragile than you think, Strider. You’re a cage of flesh and skin and red blood that will spill if you even scratch yourself a little too hard while sleeping,” you say, and he’s silent. The tightness in your chest is coming back, and you rub at it and keep talking in hopes of dissuading more panicking. 

“So are you,” he says, when you pause, and it gives you a second of quiet before you’re almost shouting again. 

“A fucking twig, Strider. A twig! That’s the best comparison I can think of for us. Sad, pathetic, twigs on the merciless battlefield, crushed underfoot as simply as you wake up and style your fucking stupid hair in the morning!” You’re managing to keep going at an even enough level to totally regain your breath. 

“That’s how easily I could have killed you just now, Strider. As if you were a fucking new tree frond in need of light pruning! How many people have died to these… these crude weapons! And you’re shoving it off like I’m the one who needs concern!” Dave’s face is full of pity by the time you’re done saying that last bit, and you reel back when your vision blurs. You think you’re fainting again, but it’s tears. Fucking tears. As if anything needed to get any more pathetic or out of the norm for yourself. 

“Well, I don't style my hair," Dave tries. There's a shake in his voice, and a chuckle on his consonants, and he's frowning into his own chest. Instead of making you feel better, because it's what you wanted, it just makes everything five score times worse. Then he rolls his shoulders, and clears his throat. "I’m sure I’ll need to have some serious contemplation after this, but I’m not the one having the world’s most dramatic reaction to an accident,” he says, simply. Like it’s that simple. “So let’s say I forgive you, we split for a while, I grab the stuff off the table, and you go back to bed.” He’s not meeting your eyes.

You’re incensed. You have no idea why, either. Why are you so angry? Is it because he’s brushing you off? Is it because you almost… well you almost. Is it because Dave is ignoring your fault?

Hushed, Dave reaches out now and tentatively places a hand on your shoulder. You speak up before he can. “I’m to blame, here,” you murmur, and look down at your stump leg, visually examining the way it casts shadows on both the floor and itself. 

Dave sighs. “To be honest, it was a fool move to pretty much sneak into your house in the dead of night without trying to wake you, first. So yeah, you almost made me into an alarming caricature, but I did come in here uninvited, into the home of an obviously messed up veteran.”

Oh. 

Part of that want to have blame cast upon yourself dissolves into Dave’s words, and you feel much calmer. His explanation made you feel better? It’s odd, and you still feel very guilty and terrified of what you could have done, but… he seems to accept it a lot better than you, right now. 

The room stops moving, and you can see the dust motes in a shaft of light. For the first time that night, everything is still, and you can hear the crickets chirping outside. It’s safe, now, mostly, but you still shift uneasily. There’s a niggling thought in the back of your head about whether or not Dave is still an assassin. If he was, though, he would have had ample opportunity at this point to kill you. Terrible assassin, he would be. 

Dave’s been incredibly close to you, but backs off. “Now, uh,” he says, “I would love to stay all night, but unfortunately your mother still wanted the thing she sent me up here for.”

Right. 

“What could she possibly have forgotten?” You ask, as Dave bends to pick up the key he’d dropped. You follow his bare fingers with your eyes as they grip the metal. White knuckles, a crack in a couple of fingernails. Callouses from sword handling. After he’s got it stowed back wherever he was keeping it before coming in, he turns on the ball of his right foot and goes over to the other door, the one that leads to your mother’s bedroom. 

“Well. I looked under the table and knocked over a chair, which was probably the sound that woke you up. And then I decided to do the most foolish thing and find her room. Said something about the east-facing room, and I gather that she meant that was hers. Of course it turns out that’s where the grumpy asshole lives, and man does he like his beauty sleep.”

That’s your cue to push yourself to your feet, which you do without too much struggle more than usual. “The way you talk is worse than some of the lowborn men I worked with in my first year as a soldier. That’s saying something,” you tell him, and he turns for a glance, and leans down to pick up your fallen crutch for you. As he’s handing it to you, he nods. 

“That’s what I’ve heard,” he says. “Well, not that exactly. But Rose has a lot of things to say about the way I talk.” The man turns back around, and fits the key into the lock. It slides easily, he turns it, and something deep inside the door clicks. The reinforced locks you told your mother to put on her door. It’s good to see they function well. 

Dave wanders into the room, carefully sidestepping a display that holds a very ornate belt buckle, mounted over a single earring. Father’s. You hop into the room behind him, and lean on the door frame. Dave spares a second to look at the buckle, a flash of recognition going over his face, before he walks straight over to a hand-sized precision hammer on the bedside table. Why would your mother have it in here? Strange that she forgot it. 

“Rose? Rose Lalonde?” You ask. 

“Yes,” Dave replies, as he picks the thing up. “She’s my sister.”

“Oh?” Somehow the information doesn’t surprise you. “Younger or older?”

“Twins,” he replies, with finality. Too much prying, then. Maybe he’s tired of answering that? Or maybe you should have already known, heard it from somewhere else. Or maybe he doesn’t want you to ask why her last name is different from his own.

The hammer is pocketed after a second of inspection on Dave’s part, and he walks up to you, in the door. There’s an expectant look on his face, and it takes you a second to realize that he’s wanting you to move. 

“Hurry, now, Smith Vantas wanted the tool to finish something tonight,” he says, in that same cocky way. You’re still shaking a little from your… event, but he seems perfectly fine. Is it because he’s playing it cool, or is he really that much of an idiot? Whatever the reason, you make to turn and go back out the door. Backwards isn’t a favorable direction for a cripple, so you have to make a full roundabout before you can get out of the way. 

Dave locks the door again once he’s out of the room. The click of the mechanism signifies that it goes back into place, and you relax a little more. You hear footsteps stop to your left, and you turn yourself to face them. At your movement, Dave backs off, almost a flinch if you look at it in just the right light. 

So… just playing it cool, then. 

“Let me clean that cut before you leave,” you ask. He seems to flinch even harder, at that. At the notion of letting you anywhere near his neck. “I insist.”

“Well, if you insist,” he says, with some trepidation. Only a little. Truly. You wouldn’t have caught the flinch at all if you didn’t have your training, so you pretend not to notice his unease, since he is so ready to dismiss it himself. 

“Sit. Let me get some supplies,” you tell him, and he does just that. 

After a second to get your mother’s small med kit from the shelf above the sink, you’re back in front of Dave, sitting opposite him in a chair just before you. A slight chill goes through you, from the vestiges of spring, and your recent awakening, and you regret not getting an overshirt or something for your shoulders. As if reading your mind, Dave hands you the light blanket from the back of his chair. Why was there even a blanket there? 

Nevertheless, you take it with a thankful murmur, and wrap it about your shoulders before you go about wiping away the blood. Trying your best not to agitate it, you use a small amount of distilled spirits to disinfect the wound. Medical advances had come a long way, but the spirits were what you were used to. Medical magic would be ideal, but you’re not a healer, either. 

Dave hisses when the liquid makes contact with his skin, and tilts his head back, despite the pain, so that you can have easier access and finish the process sooner. He smells like soap, and the column of his neck is so white in the moonlight. Upon closer examination, his stole shows no bloodstain on the front, despite the blood trail. 

“A charm,” he says, by way of explaining it, even though you didn’t ask. The long pause must have given you away. 

You hum back, frowning on concentration, and take a second to make sure the cut is cleaned well enough before placing a clean square of cloth over it. Dave’s breath hits your face, and you know he’s looking at you. Thankfully you’ve bandaged neck cuts before, so you’re aware of just how tight the fabric needs to be so that it’s not uncomfortable but still does its job. His heartbeat is throbbing in his throat, the only tell to how nervous he is.

Taking a roll of bandage, you start one end on the square, and pull it to wrap around once, twice, and then you’re good. A tiny little bandage fastener is put into the line. As you’re drawing your fingers away, you see a very strangely-shaped, faint scar just where his skin disappears into his shirt. Your fingers linger before you know what you’re doing. 

It’s like someone closed small bear trap on the skin. Serrated, jagged. The scar is almost like a tattoo, with how well it’s set into the skin. The skin has grown a little strangely around it, twisting the white mark away from where it originally would have been. It’s so old it’s nearly invisible.

Dave’s voice is very, very soft when he speaks. “I was too young when I first tried to bond with Aradia. It worked, but it was a miracle that I recovered.” His eyes are on the ceiling, and there’s an intensity there that you haven’t seen in him before. A small bark comes from outside, as if Aradia is vocally corroborating the story. She must be hearing and seeing all of this through the bond. 

The thought makes you pull back, abruptly conscious of what you’re doing. Dave’s hand shoots up to hold yours at his neck, though. The implicit trust in that gesture freezes you. “Dirk was a rider already, the village’s first, seven years older than me. And Rose was already showing signs of having immense power. I got too desperate to impress, that time. And I went to find Damara's, Dirk’s dragon’s, broodmate. She’d hatched late, so our ages would be right when I came of age for the ordeal.”

This story was too much for you to know about him, or at least you thought. Dave had gotten closer to you in those few minutes he’d spoken, and you forced yourself to back away. 

“Why are you telling me your incredibly boring life story, Strider?” You ask him, and the seriousness leaves his eyes. Shunted behind a sparkling new ice-cold barrier, he snorts and lets go of your hand. 

“I don’t know, Vantas,” he replies, and stands. Your hand falls to your lap, like a deadweight. “I thought maybe hearing something about me might make you trust me, more. Maybe that revealing something would show you that I still trust you? I’m wrong more often than not, though, these days.” 

Dave walks over to his fallen visor, and picks it up in his hands. He turns it once, twice, glances at you, and slips the thing back over his head. Just before the dark dragon glass covers his eyes, you think you see a flicker of something. Remorse? That same fear from earlier? 

“See you later. Maybe we should train together sometime. You’ve got some skill.” 

He throws up a salute at you, and ducks out of the still-open front door with nary a second glance back. The door closed behind him, and you hear both locks go together to fasten shut. How he got the deadbolt to go from outside puzzles you. 

Once he’s gone, and the house is silent, you’re filled with regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE!!!!!! CHAPTER!!!!!!
> 
> honestly I was totally planning on sticking to sundays! but unfortunately I got excited and wanted to post this one because!!! updatee!  
> ("I hope he's okay")
> 
> also this chapter was pretty fun to write! It's tense as fuck but like I loooooved writing it and I really wanted to post it :)
> 
> I decided to black out the dragon's name, and I removed it from the other chapter it was in, because it worked better with my story to retcon that, because I thought it would make more sense that the dragon removed that one trace of herself from karkat's brain as a kind of last "fuck you" haha. 
> 
> I hope everyone's having a better week than I am, and you enjoyed this chap! See you sunday most likely!


	9. EPISODE 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat is pretty upset about what he's done, and somewhere after that he recalls waking up in a medical tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted episode 7 (ch 8) in the middle of the week, so go read that before you read this one if you haven't! otherwise this won't make much sense. :)

You don’t go back to sleep after Dave leaves.

For a long while, you sit at the table. It’s hard to think about much, even though you have so much to think about. What was that? Had it really happened? What was it about, in the end, after everything was said and done? 

Dragon-glass visor, going from forehead to philtrum, obscuring anything you could have seen as he left the door. Dragon glass was a material that could be dyed or altered with magic to do a multitude of things, like make the glass impossible to see through, or allow the wearer to see magical auras. Things like that. Sollux had a pair of spectacles for that; half the reason he was your first officer was because he could be trusted to reveal tactical magic. The material’s creation was something that was still a mystery to you, but you think it had something to do with sand that was heated in the fire bladder of working drakes.

All that mattered was that you knew he’d sequestered himself behind it, so that you wouldn’t be able to see him. Does Dave hate you now? What an infantile thought. It wouldn’t matter if he does or doesn’t, in the end. You aren’t a youth with such cares anymore. 

Finding yourself scoffing, you put a stop to it as soon as you can, and lean sideways to put weight on your arm. The sun won’t be coming up for a few hours, in the very least. The fire in this room would be too much work to set back up and maintain right now. There should be some coffee left in the insulated pitcher on the hearth, though. 

You really don’t want to go back to your dreams. You won’t be able to, even if you try.

The memories of the dream surface, and you feel like you might dry heave. Definitely not a good idea to go back to sleep. That one never ended in your favor. 

There’s a gas lantern on the table, so you start by lighting that with a stick from the box of matches next to it. A wooden creak fills the house as the wind blows. The small door on the lantern squeaks out a panicked note as you close it. The house isn’t cold, or damp-feeling, so the weather is probably good enough to spend some time outside. 

Why had Dave tried to tell you about his past? Forging a friendship or something is what he said, right? Hands shaking, you run one through your already sleep-wild hair. The scar must have looked so terrifying to him in the dark. One of the only people you would even tentatively mention tolerating here, and you had scared him so badly. Almost hurt him so badly. Almost rent his soul from his body, on this dark night.

Something urges you to stand. An impulse feeling, rushing into your chest. It hurts, it hurts a lot, for some reason. He was the one stupid enough to come into your home in the middle of the night, why are you feeling bad about it? Shoving a crutch under you, you hobble into your bedroom. Yesterday’s pants are grabbed from your chair, and the shirt as well. You sit on your bed to pull off your dressing gown, and yank on the other clothing. Outside, outside. Outside will help you feel fresh. 

Maybe it’s the whole mess that happened earlier, but everything is reminding you of your disability. This cloying insecurity makes you spent an abysmal amount of time actually paying attention to what you’re wearing. The extra length of pant leg has to be rolled up, and you try not to look at it as you messily tuck in the fabric so that it won’t get in the way. You don’t bother to tuck in the shirt, and toss on an overshirt. It’s night, so it won’t be very warm outside. One boot is slid on, and fastened. Just one.

On the way out of your room you grab your kit, and your cane, and that same crutch you’ve been using since you woke up. If you look hard enough, will it have flecks of blood on it? Will it be dented from the struggle? Will Dave still want to be around you? You almost drop the lantern at that thought.

When you finally sit down on the porch, after releasing the locks again, you throw the same blanket from the table around your shoulders. Knowing that it will take you a few minutes to settle into the practice, you take your cane, take a tool from your kit, and shave away pieces of wood from the exterior. This motion is easy, good for warming up your hands, and good for helping with settling your mind. 

It’s all freakishly boring if you describe it, but it does… help. It’s one of the only forms of recreation you find solace in anymore. And it’s been awhile since you were able to work on this particular project. 

By the time you finish shaving down one side of the wood, your hands are steady and your gaze is even. Hours must have passed, because the sky is just a tiny bit lighter. Maybe it’s just you, since the stars seem just as bright.

The birds aren’t awake yet, so it’s just your tools, crickets, waving grass and crashing water so far below. A raccoon climbs up onto the porch, and crosses the corner with two small ones in tow. It doesn’t spare you much of a passing interest. 

You breathe a sigh. This coping method, needing hours at a time? It’s not practical. 

Schnickt, schnickt, goes your shaver. And you’re done with that. You retrieve a small knife from your leather box, and an awl. 

When you lean over to put the shaver back, your father’s emblem falls out of your shirt. How does it keep doing that? You never take it off, except for baths and a few other situations. It’s… the emblem itself is made of metal, but it has inlay of the same black-colored glass that Dave Strider’s visor is made from. The weight of it and the materials in its creation make you feel nauseous to think about.

Looking down at the wood in your now-still hands, you lay it across your knees. Father used to carve, just like this. Maybe he didn’t make a cane, because he had no need for one, but he did whittle. A comb for mother, a carving for his reptilian partner as a gift. Imbued with white magic, for him to consume. Dragons are a strange thing. They don’t horde much, least of all gold as the old legends used to say. Instead, they collect certain items they have an affinity for, and in most cases, they eat them. 

Father’s dragon was not small, but not large, with a massive wingspan built for speed. A long, curved neck like a warhorse, black as night and night invisible against a dark sky. Perfect for messengers. 

 

* * *

 

_“Madjem, Patta’s here!”_

_“Go n’ greet him for me, sweetie.”_

_“Patta!”_

_“Karkat, my boy. I have flowers for Madjem.”_

_“Patta and Kanny!”_

_**“I’ve given up on correcting you of your tragic misnomers at this point, small one. Oh… okay, fine, yes, I will embrace you.”** _

_“He’s six years old, Kankri, I know it’s not your strongest point, but be patient, for me.”_

_**“There is no need for your rather rude teasing, sir. I adore him, truly.”** _

 

* * *

 

The dragon was shot down by a long-range harpoon.

A fox darts across the path before the stairs, startling you out of the reverie. There’s a bit of scuffle in the grass, and then the animal walks carefully back into the grass it came from, jowls full of fat hare.

As it disappears, you’re made alarmingly aware of the way your waist is pressing into your bladder. Curse it, forgetting to take care of your business before sitting down. You get yourself up, using that one crutch, and carefully go off the side of the porch and around to the outhouse. 

Once done with that, you go inside to grab some of that coffee, and sit back down in your chair. Fortunately you’ve never had a bad back, and sitting for long hours has little negative effect. Of course, doing menial tasks with a lot of repetitive movement, like carving, gives you too much room to think.

Now that you’ve calmed more, you can think more… logically about what happened earlier. There was a long history of needing to sleep lightly, and be ready to wake up at the slightest notice that something was different from usual. Next time, however, you would be sure to apply non-lethal force to the clumsy intruders. It was frightening to think that because of the war, your brain was permanently set to no-mercy. 

You roll your shoulders. 

You must have been… twenty? Twenty years old, when you performed your first year of service. The year you started was a fairly calm year, like the war was sitting in the eye of the storm, and the storm was circling gradually around it. It was easy, it let you be a little unwise at times despite being on the front lines. And none of your direct comrades in arms were killed. 

Of course, your mother had sent you a letter. You don’t remember what it was about, now, but it had been important enough that you’d decided to take a leave from your long-time dream of being a fairly-ranking military officer, and go back to help her. 

It was an honorable leave, due to the time of relative peace. 

After a year of being home, however, you’d received the next letter. One of your superiors, Makara, had seen your talent for leadership and cunning in battle. He’d witnessed your persistence for the best, your skills from training, and when the cinch came down on the war again, he’d said something to someone. 

To look back and know that you had just begun to think that you would never achieve a position of leadership? To look back and know that you had been just understanding that someone of your social class wouldn’t’ve been able to lead in the queen’s army? It’s riveting. Like watching a lamb fall down a cliff in slow motion. Who would have thought that you would receive that letter? 

The queen had requested that you come seek audience with her. She had mentioned that she had heard reports of your accomplishments in battle. How naïve had you been, then, to not see it? Who wouldn’t have been elated? 

She had given you a command, when you came to see her. There had been a party, you had been given a pressed uniform and two decorative sickles that would never see another living creature’s blood. Your chest had been laid with a myriad of medals, flags, braids, and you had only earned a small part of them. She had given you a command, out of nowhere.

She had given you a command in which none of your subordinates respected you, on the basis of your social class and accent. No, you hadn’t automatically expected them to respect you, and they hadn’t expected it from you either. They did what you said, mostly with gritted teeth, and you kept them alive. The only one who had even close to respected you was your first officer. 

Feeling hot, you pull the blanket from your shoulders, and set the carving down. Flexing your fingers and hands helps distract you for a moment. A breeze blows your hair back from your face, and you close your eyes to breathe it in. 

Four years or so after you were given your post, you woke up without a part of yourself. 

It had been disorienting, waking up with cots all around, medical personnel and disease, and flies. Flies despite all precautions taken to keep them out. The smell of black rot and white lye-cleaned curtains, some incense to keep most of the stench at bay and the curses out.

You wring your hands. They’re cold.

 

* * *

 

_Pain, groaning, a human being screaming as shrapnel is yanked from his skin with a sickening lurch. It’s like it was originally a part of him, with the way he screams. Like they’re removing a bone. You can hear the noise die down to foolish whimpers, a weaker blue blood getting used to the idea of being cannon fodder._

_It’s impossible to see them, though, even with your head turned aside. You can’t see anything through the haze and the double white cotton curtains._

_Ah, your own section of the tent, then. Fitting for your rank, you guess, since you’re not highborn enough to warrant this in a normal hospital. This isn’t a hospital, though, you note muzzily. Ten yards away your soldiers are being tended to, and this is… a medic tent. Right, the flies._

_The numbness of your body makes its way slowly into more familiar territory. Shooting spasms and spikes of misfortune litter the next few waking moments. Your legs feel as if they’re on fire, your right foot twitching in the sheets as you clench your nails into your palms. There’s a certain amount of muttering that blooms into talking, and you hear someone say your name._

_“Karkat?”_

_Sollux is there when you manage to move your head. It’s difficult keeping your eyes open, but you do it. He looks so incredibly happy to see you alive. He hasn’t been crying, none of you know how to cry anymore. New recruits cry for you. But if he were a man with a more restful life? He seems happy enough that maybe a tear would be shed. You almost smile to see him, as well. Even though he’d pushed you away a week ago, when you needed nothing else but his warmth and his mouth._

_“We thought you weren’t going to wake up,” he tells you, and reaches out to squeeze your arm._

_Why wouldn’t you have woken up? Yes, you’re in a cot in a medic tent, and you’re full of pain. Well, don’t you feel foolish, explaining it to yourself while trying to defend yourself, only TO yourself. Confusion fills your head, and a bout of vertigo leaves you feeling nauseous and even more disoriented and dizzy. Sollux moves closer, and holds a palm to your forehead. The whole world is spinning._

_“Why are you here,” you ask when it’s passed, and words are more likely to come out than vomit. “You have a job to do, since I am out of commission.”_

_“The healers said you would wake up within a couple of hours. I received a missive to give you, anyway, so I didn’t have any reason to leave soon.”_

_“That doesn’t answer my question,” you tell him, and an itch works its way up into your throat. You cough._

_“General Makara showed up, and he’s handling everything on orders from her Majesty. I don’t know why,” he finally informs you._

_Oh. Makara. The youngest one is the one that currently goes by General, right? That solves that question, at least. You let your neck relax again, and part of your pain goes away. So then, what happened to you? Sollux’s hand leaves your forehead, very regrettably, and he opens his mouth to speak. You interrupt him, turning your chin to level him with what you hope is a glare._

_“Why am I… here?”_

_Sollux closes up. It takes a lot to notice, with his posture, and his training, but you see it in the tightening of his mouth. You see it in the set of his eyes, and the tick in his jaw. His brows, though, and the tension in his shoulders… he’s not angry._

_“You…” he starts._

_“What,” you snap. “What, Captor.”_

_Sollux flinches at your use of his last name instead of the first. Usually when the two of you are alone, you only use it to get his attention._

_“You… got hurt, Karkat.”_

_“Don’t give me that shit, Sollux.”_

_“Do you remember anything?” He asks, and you strain to remember._

_Yes. Now that you’re thinking about it. The plan, the suicide plan. The battlefield, the mines… pain. Oh the pain. The suffocating, the mud, the blood, but… wait just a fucking minute. Where are the rest of them!_

_You push yourself up onto your elbows, ignoring the growing twinges in your sides and shoulder blades in favor of getting into Sollux’s face. Why hasn’t he told you, where are the rest! What happened! Why hasn’t he told you?! A healer spots the movement and rushes through the curtain separating the sides of the tent. She tries to push you down, saying something about needing to be still and putting force into both her hands._

_“How many, Sollux?!”_

_“Light’s sake, KK, lie down! You bled too much, you need to lie down!”_

_**“How many?!”**_ _you shout it. The shouting strains you enough, and your arms straighten in a reflex reaction so that you don’t fall. Of course this means you dramatically overbalance._

_The overbalancing is strange. You should be fine, yes, of course the pain is normal and all but why do you feel so…_

_You look down._

_There’s… what?_

_“Lay down, KK,” Sollux is saying in your ear, soothingly, pressing his hands into your chest. Your elbows are locked, though._

_“What?” you ask, weakly._

_The healer is trying to talk to you, patting your arm. She seems to have given up on just pushing, since you are far stronger even injured. Smartly, though, she jabs a few fingers directly into the inner part of one of your elbows, and both your arms crumple at once. Like wet paper, or a house of cards, you go down._

_Sollux catches you before you can fall any further, and he and the nurse get you back onto the cot. Horizontal again, and incredibly uncomfortable, you stare at the ceiling._

_“Less than half, Karkat. Less than half survived the ambush,” Sollux tells you. It was more than you were thinking, at first. It’s still a devastating number. You’ve almost forgotten about the soldiers._

_You used to have two legs._

_Sollux is quiet for some time, in which he waves the healer away, and tries to pour some water into your mouth. You open it out of reflex, no other reason._

_“Mines,” you croak, finally. Remembering._

_“Mines,” he agrees. Firmly. Logical. Matter-of-fact._

_You feel your face settle into a long, hard position, your shoulders square and the rest of you seems to just… give up._

_You don’t talk again for days._

 

* * *

 

 

It comes easy to keep carving until your mother arrives home. She sees you on the porch, and doesn’t mention it except to lean in and quickly kiss your forehead. 

“I was going to have Dirk come by, later, to work on y-- the leg.” You say nothing, yet, and it’s obvious that she’s watching you for any extreme reactions, like the ones you’ve been having. Seeing something in your mood that doesn’t welcome company, apparently, she asks, “Should I tell him not to come out?” It’s too patient. You put down the carving and stretch your back. It cracks in three different places. 

“No, I think I’m fine,” you tell her. 

Looking skeptical, she nods. “Alright, we should stay out of your hair. Were you planning on going into town today?”

Thinking of going into town makes you remember this morning, with Dave. Do you want to see him again? It would be… awkward. Then again, the chances of him coming up to help Dirk and your mother are also fairly high. What could you do? Stay here, carve some more, read, repair things? Or go into town or to the restaurant?

Though… there might be an acceptable middle ground outlet that you had yet to consider. Kanaya Maryam mentioned coming by anytime. Perhaps… paying them a visit? 

“Yes. Do you need any errands run while I’m there?” You ask. 

“Not that I can think of. You have a good day, dear. And tuck in your shirt,” she tells you, patting your shoulder. You’ll need to stop running away from the leg one day, but today is not that day. 

To Maryam’s it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY! so, uh, here it is, another chapter! Happy sunday and all that, hope everyone is enjoying the updates!
> 
> I will be continuing this after the end, unless something drastic happens with my opinion of it all, but! I will not be trying to finish before act 7 comes out, and you can rely on me for more content even after all this is over! 
> 
> See y'all next sunday most likely, or maybe sooner if I really feel like it :)


	10. EPISODE 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat goes to visit the Maryams at the orphanage, and sees a face there he hadn't wanted to see. There's a conversation, and a real friendship formed.

Immediately after arriving at the orphanage, the best option seems like leaving. Midday meal is on for the children when you arrive, and the air is full of the sweet smell of honeyed porridge. The air is full of sublime laughter, and even the Maryams are smiling as Dave Strider manages to balance ten bowls in his arms at once. It seems easy, for him, especially when he straightens as Porrim places another bowl atop his head. 

Gesturing for space, Dave walks back a couple of steps and stands on the toes of one foot. He spins, and a few of the smaller children clap merrily and giggle as he comes to a stop, and very obviously pretends to lose his balance. One of the children, you notice, does not laugh or clap, and watches in some kind of awe. The awe is subdued in that child’s face, and you recognize a piece of yourself in it. 

However fun the scene seems, however, Dave is there, and that means that you should leave immediately. You’re turning on a heel to leave out the door you came when a soft voice calls out to you. 

“Karkat!” 

As Kanaya calls your name as beatifically as you do not deserve, you hear most of the merriment cease. Turning, you see Dave standing, looking a little ridiculous born down with plates and wearing a much more serious expression than even seconds before. He obviously didn’t expect you to be here, either. It’s a small wonder that he’s not limping, with how you caught him in the shins with your crutch. You figure he has some sort of salve for minor injuries like that, and you won’t press on it. After all… he told you not to. Didn’t he.

“Hello, Kanaya,” you say, instead of greeting Dave with anything more than your stare. Looking over at the tall woman, you try to wrestle a smile onto your mouth. The smile outwits you by miles and scampers away. She doesn’t seem to take any offense, however, and reaches out to touch your arm. 

“You’re just in time for the midday meal. Please join us,” she offers, and who are you to refuse? It wasn’t her that threw your budding acquaintanceship (friendship?) with Dave Strider into the ground, and stomped all over it. She takes your nod as what you mean it, and leads you into the room. 

The children have started chatting again, though some of them are giving you significant looks and trying to be discreet with their whispers about your leg, your face, the crutches, and your general countenance. The sound of ceramic hitting the long wooden table’s surface starts, at the other end from you first. It seems the order of service is to the youngest children to start, and then up in age. It makes you want to grin. So much more innocent than rank.

Once Dave has finished placing those eleven bowls, he scampers around you and to the kitchen again. He gives you a pretty wide berth, as Kanaya leads you to sit in an empty chair at a round table separated from the long elbow-shaped one at which the children sit. He comes out with more bowls. There seem to be thirty young ones in all here, at a glance. Are all the residents in the room right now? As you sit, you observe around eight older children, probably in their late or mid teens, around six very small children and toddlers, three babies (which a few of the older children are holding), and the rest somewhere in the middle. 

You’re pointedly not watching Dave set down the last few dishes, and barely notice it when a long, delicate hand slides a hefty portion of the hot meal onto the surface before you, with a cup of milk alongside it. The hand, spiraled with tattoos, is attached to the ever-graceful Porrim, who is currently looking at you with strange amusement. Kanaya sets down food for herself and her older sister, and slides onto a chair at the table. 

“It’s so good of you to visit, Karkat,” Kanaya begins, a small smile crossing her lips. 

“Yes, it’s good of you to visit. It’s few and far between that we get new people in this house. It’ll give the kids something to talk about,” Porrim adds, and busies herself with her porridge. You pick up the spoon that was brought in with your bowl, and bring a mouthful to your lips. A simple meal, but somehow incredibly delicious; is it eating with company that makes it so, or do the Maryams have a special recipe? 

“I thought I might need a change of scenery, and you were the first to come to mind,” you reply easily, small talk coming very smoothly to your tongue. It’s hard to think of much else to say, however, so you leave it at that. Dave, ten feet away, hushes a few of the kids and taps his spoon on his bowl. It reminds you…

You glance at the two Maryams, who are eating as if nothing is amiss. Why isn’t Dave sitting with the three of you? It’s not for a lack of chairs, as there are three at the table. Is it because of you? Or does he normally sit and eat with them? Why is he even here? You turn your head to briefly examine Dave and his actions, to see if you can spot familiarity between him and what he’s doing. He’s currently nudging and chatting with the very quiet child from earlier, not getting into their space, but trying to prompt them for conversation. Porrim is giving you a sharp stare when you turn back to looking at her, as if she knows exactly when you’re thinking about. 

Something to think about, ask about, you need something to ask about. Maybe something nearby Dave, maybe you could fake what you were actually looking at? Ah, you remember. That quiet child from before, you could ask about them. 

“All the children here seem so happy. Except for one,” you prompt, and Kanaya takes you up on the attempt at conversation. Porrim regards you almost coolly for dodging your real object of attention. 

“We call him the mayor. M for short, if you like,” Kanaya says, and the idea strikes you as overwhelmingly odd and out of place in a town like this. Too strange to be real. What an awful moniker, besides that. 

“Why the mayor?” You ask, and let yourself analyze the child. A hood that covers half of his face, attached to an old and worn poncho, and the rest of his clothes the dark, dark gray of traveling garments. As if he arrived in the clothes, and hasn’t taken them off. The child is also wearing small cloth black gloves, despite the disappearing winter chill, and old black boots. 

“He doesn’t talk since he came here, so we never got a name, but he does love constructing make-believe cities. It’s a strange thing for a child to be interested in, but the persons who delivered him to us told us that his parents were either grand architects or city building commissioners. The other children began fondly referring to him as the title, and it stuck.” Maryam finished, with a smile, and you felt a little offended for the child. They decided to keep a name that other children gave him? Children could be so cruel. 

“He was very proud of the nickname, when it first started,” Porrim interjects over your thoughts. “He seemed to like it so very much, or we wouldn’t have let him keep it.”

Now you feel guilty, and look back down and return to eating your lunch. 

“We don’t know why he refuses other clothing that we try to give him, and he never seems to want to spend too much time outside. For a long time we worried about getting him a home, if his attitude doesn’t change,” Porrim continues the explanation, letting Kanaya eat quietly. “We have some of the best behaved charges, and we try our best to get them into apprenticeships or jobs on farms or boats, so they have somewhere to go once they’re too old to stay here.”

You note, taking another bite of your porridge, that she didn’t mention the army. In big cities, a lot of orphans either die in the elements, or make it far enough to take one of two routes: armed forces or begging. Very few make it into good jobs, such is the way that things work for them in the cities. It pains you to think of any of these happy children going to war. 

Porrim continues after swallowing a mouthful, “We worried about M, in that regard, but we could keep him here. We haven’t had a lasting stable-boy in a long time, and he seems comfortable enough with animals. A groundskeeper could be nice, if we could get him to brave the outdoors more often.”

They look after the children so much, here. It makes something catch in your throat. The amount of caring, and passion for helping others, that these two sisters exude… it makes you uncomfortable. It makes you yearn for connections to others. It makes you want to hold your mother. These children, after losing their parents or family, are here, and they are cared for. 

It’s only when Kanaya stands up and knocks firmly on the long table that you realize just how long you’ve been staring into your bowl. 

“Alright, lunch is over, it’s time for most of you to head over to the church for afternoon lessons,” she says, expectant. In response, she receives a great groan from the mass of children, and they all make their way into the kitchen. You wait for them to finish moving, to stand, and you can hear a great amount of clinking bowls and eating utensils in the large dirty dish bucket on the counter next to the sink. 

A few names are mentioned, and the older children that were holding babies hand them off to the Maryams, and follow suit of the children.

You are the last to stand, and Dave is trying to edge around you to get to the kitchen when Porrim stops him in his tracks. She effectively traps you right next to each other, and lets her eyes drift lazily from one man to the other in a clear show of calculation. A baby on each hip, one looking calm and comfortable, and the other slowly and happily dripping porridge from its mouth, she stares you down. 

“You two get to wash dishes,” she says, chin up, and allowing no refusal of her command. It’s a firm look you’re very familiar with, having seen it many times coming from your own mother. 

Dave groans, but it’s a sound of resignation, and not contest. Porrim levels you with a calm look, like she knows that you and Dave need to talk, and you’ll do it ‘or else.’

 

* * *

 

You end up in the kitchen, a borrowed stool fitting just under your short leg to allow you to stand, and have more mobility of your arms. It’s a painful substitute, with how it presses on the sensitive flesh, and creases the fabric into your skin, but it’s alright as long as you can do your part in the dishes-cleaning. Standing straight up, you’re taller than him, just slightly. 

“I was trying to avoid you,” is the first thing he says. 

“Funny story, Strider. I have the same exact one,” is the first thing you say back. 

It feels like several long and impossible hours pass and Dave isn’t talking to you. It’s very tense. It’s so very tense, coming from both of you, and he’s not breaking the silence. Maybe you need to puncture the bubble of quiet before he will. You have something you need to say, anyway. 

“I’m sorry.”

Without looking, you hear him pause, then start scrubbing a little harder at the stain he’s working on.

“What for?” He asks, voice devoid of emotion. 

“You know what for.” _Don’t make me._

“I want to hear you say it,” he tells you, demands of you. You find yourself sucking in a sharp breath through your teeth, surprised. It’s very unlike his so far-passive-careless personality, and catches you off guard. 

“I’m trying to apologize for my shoddy way of handling things last night, shit-for-brains,” you say, effectively shoving both of your feet into your mouth, and swallowing. 

“Hell of a way to apologize,” he retorts acidly, “I don’t even know what you’re apologizing for about last night.” His tone suggests that he knows a lot of things he wants you to apologize for. It’s hurt, it’s childish, it’s carrying a little pain and a lot of vitriol. 

“All of it, Strider,” You tell him, feeding his nasty tone right back to him. “Well, you didn’t accept my apology for almost lopping your fucking head off, so it’s obviously not that.”

Dave is quiet, and hands you the last dish to rinse and dry, starting on the porridge pot itself. The spots aren’t wanting to come off, it seems. They have a will of steel against the scrub brush in Dave’s right hand, and it’s obvious that he’s really trying to make it seem like he has a reason to not pay you full attention. He’s even allowing some of the soapy water to touch the folded ends of his long sleeves, arms drenched nearly to the elbow. 

The silence brings you to a cusp of losing your temper, with how frustrated you’re getting. With nothing to do with your hands, and Dave not talking to you, you soon feel incredibly antsy. That impatience and anxiety transforms into an almost insatiable need to make something, anything, happen in this conversation. 

So you turn to the man standing next to you, leaning one elbow on the edge of the sink to hold yourself firmly up. 

“This is me, trying to say that I feel bad for cutting you off, and essentially telling you not to hit your heels with the door on the way out,” you squeeze from yourself. It’s agony to be so straightforward about your feelings, with how many years you’d spent holding them in check behind so many layers of armor. 

“Theeeere it is,” Dave says, and you almost lose it again. A venom coats the inside of your mouth, ready to lash out at his insensitivity.

“Stop being such a taciturn piece of frozen piss, Strider,” you throw back at him. Some part of you feels like you deserve this, and deserve the heartless way he’s denying you relief from your guilt. And you do, in a way, deserve it. Your first attempt at wholehearted reconciliation with someone you’ve wronged doesn’t feel like it’s going so well, however, and you wish Dave felt the same way about needing to be the bigger person in the argument. 

He shouldn’t have to, though. If you think back on it, all of his efforts at conversation with you so far in your life since meeting him have been met with an overall grouchiness. That thought fills you with a temporary wash of even more guilt that you push away with no hesitation. You have enough on your shoulders without adding that. Besides, it’s just your personality, at this point. You can’t help your personality. Not at all. 

Dave is scrubbing even harder at the pot, a pinch to his brow that you know is a recent development. 

“Way to come off the apology carriage with flying colors,” he tells you, less harshly than before.

“Look, Strider, I was already on edge because of my eternal waking nightmares, and then you surprised me, and I almost offed you,” you say, and your mouth keeps running without regard to whatever you might actually want. This much spilling out into the open could be shallowly blamed on the floodgates being cracked open when you revealed your secrets to him that night on the bridge, but you’re currently settling the accusation with your own general shittiness. “Feeling vulnerable,” you take a shaky breath, “And, frankly, guilty, at the same time isn’t a great combination for having a late-night heart-to-heart.”

Dave pauses before continuing in a sort of soft monotone. “I’m not going to apologize for wanting to open up to you.”

“Why in Light’s seven domains would I want you to do that?!” You exclaim, and almost lose your balance. Dave’s brow pinches even further, to the point it looks like it should hurt, and you see that his non-scrubbing hand has gone white-knuckled on the pot with the extent of his self-control. “Why are you making everything so fucking difficult for me?!”

“Well I don’t know, asshole!” His face turns, and he levels a hot glare at the drain, halfway between the pot and you. “Maybe I want to actually be your FRIEND!!” The shout bounces off the window in front of him, and the pot drops into the large sink with a huge clang. “Maybe you look like you could, I dunno, _use one_!!” He’s yelling all of it by the time he scowls at you, eyes blazing with all the fire he wishes he could produce from his own maw. 

There’s a gasp from the doorway, and at a glance, Kanaya is there, a concerned draw to her mouth and hand poised as if ready to intervene. 

“Are you boys alright?” She asks.

The two of you answer in unison. “Yes, thank you.” 

At hearing his slightly hoarse and wobbly voice, so like your own, you look back at the rider’s face. He’s still scowling at you, even with Kanaya having broken the tension, and it hurts you a little bit. Just a little bit, though. It’s not like you’re not used to people giving you stares that could kill a lesser man. 

Porrim’s boot heels click on the floor and you end up directing your attention back toward the doorway. As you turn your face, you see Dave tilt back toward the sink out of your periphery. Porrim is observing you with a blank stare, calculating. It is then that you notice a few children at Kanaya’s skirts, and then they’re being escorted out with some shooshes and a brief hand movement from the elder Maryam. The same sister gives you a very significant look, and swishes herself out of the room.

The air is rife with tension, again, as soon as all the other people are gone. Dave makes no motion to pick up the pot yet, and you cannot hope to even think about leaving or doing literally anything but stand in this one spot. A bird sings briefly from just outside the window, and a tapping of claws comes from the gutter. The ruby serpent. Why are you calling her that, when you know her proper name? 

“I know that you know that it’s fine, Aradia, why are you asking?” Dave says, out of nowhere. He nods once, and twice, and the bird outside stops singing with a loud screech. Dave smirks for half a second before the frown is back full-force. So he does talk to her inside his head, most of the time. Is his focus that badly broken to where he needs to speak out loud?

It’s a long three minutes before you try to talk to Dave again. 

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not very good at making… friends. My apologies,” you try, yet again.

He hisses a little, makes an aborted movement to grab the pot that he doesn’t complete. “Stop apologizing.”

“I’m just trying to explain myself, Strider,” you defend, observing Dave. He winces almost imperceptibly, and looks so incredibly frustrated that it’s like he’s trying to roll down a hill in the snow without getting wet. 

“Fine. Just…” he picks up the pot by its handles, and re-sets it on the edge of the sink. “You don’t need to say sorry anymore. For that.” He turns the pot, clearly inspecting for dents or obvious scratches from hi nearly ejecting it from himself into the sink. You watch him. The actions, the familiarity of the way he holds himself here… it’s like he belongs in the space. 

“I’m a coward, Strider,” your mouth says, without your permission. 

“I said not to apologize.”

“It’s an explanation!”

“If you insist, man,” he replies bitterly, and, apparently not having found any blemishes from his own carelessness, he begins to try and scrub out that one spot again. 

You froth for a second. Would it be worth it to open up even further? Dave wants to become your true friend, but he’s not even acting like it. What kind of… no. His companionship is easy. It’s nice. He doesn’t seem to expect much out of you. Maybe.

“I’m trying to explain that I don’t really know how to have proper friends anymore, Strider.”

Dave stops in his inspection, and sets down the pot, gently this time. He takes a few deep breaths, eyes closed, and you start thinking that maybe he’ll give up his pursuit. It’s a very sad thought. 

“Well, it’s a good thing I do, then, Vantas.” He’s got a mischievous glint back in his eye, when he looks at you, despite the purse of his mouth.

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“I’ll try to let you try from now on, then, Strider.”

Dave seems to think for a moment, then grins with just the corner of his lips, and holds out a fist toward you. You nearly flinch back, caught off guard. He shakes his fist in the air, as if waiting for you to do something. What?

A minute passes, and he still waits expectantly. 

“Hold out your Light-forsaken knuckles, Vantas.” He gripes eventually, still grinning just that tiny bit. 

You do, mimicking what he’s doing, and he bumps them with his own. 

A smile blooms across his face, and you get a lifting feeling in your chest. 

“Nice,” he tells you. 

And it is. You still don’t forgive yourself for the night before, either for your attack or your argument, but he seems to be doing it just fine. Maybe it’ll rub off on you. 

In return, you reach out and slide your dry hand along his soapy palm to grip his wrist. It doesn’t take much at all for him to catch on, and when both sets of fingers are locked on the other’s forearm, you grasp it quite firmly and shake it once, and twice. Dave’s grin sprouts into a little something more before he draws his elbow back, detaching himself. You briefly lament the loss of his warm skin against yours, the comfortable understanding of companionship.

“You know,” he says, and you startle, having thought you were done talking for awhile. Dave is back to scrubbing the pot. “I spent a lot of time here as a young kid, before I decided to do that incredibly stupid thing.”

“That’s an interesting way to bring up a subject out of nowhere,” you reply, easily falling back into the banter zone. You also easily curse yourself for immediately going back to being the caustic grump everyone takes you for. 

“Hey. You said you were gonna let me try to be your friend. For real this time. So I’m gonna tell you something about me. And try to pick up where you cut me off before.”

Guilt cuts through the warmth from before. Fuck. Right, you should let him do this. Opening up to people, that’s how you make friends, right? It’s sad to the furthest extremity that you have to guess at friendship.

“Anyways,” Dave continues, “So you already know that I have older siblings, and you can gather from that information that I have parents, or at least one parent, and Rose lives in the mansion, right, so why did I spend a lot of time at this orphanage you ask?”

You hadn’t put all those things together, but you nod anyway. You turn to sit on the stool instead of leaning your weight on your short thigh. 

“Well, it was intimidating being at home all the time with all my other siblings, who all showed a good deal of magical promise, and I, like all kids, hated my lessons. So I came here, to hang out with some of the local kids, and Porrim saw me and asked Dolorosa if I could eat with them one day. She said of course, I said thank you at some point, and yadda yadda I ended up spending more time with the Maryams than at home.”

Dave holds up a hand before you can ask anything. “Dolorosa is Kanaya and Porrim’s mother. She’s still alive, just running a children’s home in the capital, or trying for reform of that system, or something.”

The story sounds very much like Dave is putting a conscious effort into sounding casual. The light in his red eyes, however, tells a different story. It means so much to him that the Maryams accepted him into their home. From just the context of his story, it seems obvious that he would feel more accepted around ‘normal’ kids, like himself, after feeling so out of place around his own family. 

“The kids know me, here, and the Maryams can always use the extra hands and eyes watching them and keeping them entertained, so why not come back as often as I do? Usually Aradia comes and hangs out in the yard, but today she wanted to nap on the roof.”

This doesn’t surprise you, judging by his brief interaction with her moments before. “I didn’t see her up there when I got here.”

“Trust me, she’s up there. Probably not on the front side, because of the attention she draws.”

Dave is talking a lot. It’s catching you off guard, how much he’s talking sincerely, and not… doing his usual thing. You imagine he’s come to peace with a lot in his life. Either that, or the story about him and the orphanage was one he really wanted to tell. Maybe it’s both? You note with some curiosity that he didn’t try to bring up exactly what it was he was talking about before. Maybe what he had said was all you need to know? 

The sunlight coming through the nearest window creates the barest of shadows on the scar you had seen before. He was hurt so badly, as a child. But he moves with so much joy. You lose track of the conversation in favor of watching his facial expressions, the subtle changes and practiced stoicism. It’s alright, and he very capably fills the silence you leave. Maybe you needed a friend like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry first of all for posting this in the middle of the night! unfortunately I don't think I'll have time to edit and post tomorrow, because I have a bunch of plans in the middle of the day! so I wanted to post it early instead of late! hope everyone is having a good week, and eating well and drinking lots of water as it starts warming up outside!
> 
> a note about the last chapter: I wanted to clarify that when i mentioned "blue blood" in the medic tent flashback, I was talking about the upper crust, the bourgeoisie, etc etc, not about literal blue bloods. in this fic, everyone is human until proven otherwise. i didnt get any comments about it or anything, but i was reading the chapter over earlier and combing it and thought i would mention this now! 
> 
> I wanted to take a moment as well to mention how much I love my readers and commenters, your praise and encouragement has really given me more passion for writing and life! I read every comment at least three or five times before I delete the notification email, and I love answering questions and getting headcanons and jokes and art or mentions of art and yeesh i can't say enough about it I just love you guys, keep being amazing and I'll see you in a week! !!! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3


	11. EPISODE 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So far, none of the children have asked you about your face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> keep an eye out for a chapter posted mid-week and enjoy!

The orphans get used to seeing you, over the period of the next month. It’s easy to go back and visit them for a day. You do this a few times a week, to occupy yourself and visit with the Maryam sisters. You help where you can, be it watching the yard, cooking, or teaching a child how to properly strap in their cart horse. The horse is a fairly calm middle-aged mare, dun on the hocks and weathered by the sea air. 

Mostly, though, you help watch the younger children. The older ones are out in the fields, planting, and you can help a lot just by making sure the younger children stay out of trouble while around the house. A couple of times, you go out with a group of them into the town, and visit some other places. The children aren’t confined, necessarily, but the Maryams do prefer to have them watched while out, for safety reasons.

The quiet child from before, the one they call the Mayor, seems to like spending time with you. It wasn’t something you expected, but he turns out to be very smart despite his unwillingness – or inability – to speak, and writes very well. Dave watches the two of you interacting one day, and comments on the kid taking a liking to you. He says it’s either because of your patience with him writing everything he wants to communicate, or the fact that you’ve cottoned onto his wordless gestures so quickly. 

When M asks about your leg, you pause, and then answer him honestly. He accepts it, nodding, and goes on with what he’s doing. It’s a strange feeling, the fact that he neither pries nor acts like he wants to. Children have turned out to be fairly simple, despite your worries. 

After the first week and a half of visiting the orphanage, you stop wondering whether or when Dave is going to arrive. You’ve fit into your own niche at this place, and find comfort in not worrying about the comings and goings of your newest friend. 

 

* * *

 

Four or five weeks after your first visit, you’re sitting on a chair near the back door, and watching them play a game with a ball that you don’t quite understand. It’s a lovely day outside, and the field grass twitches gaily in the sunlight. 

One of the children walks up to you, looking nervous. Like they want to ask a question. It’s not unusual to get questions, but mostly the children don’t try to start conversation with you. This one looks about six or seven years, and is pushing a toe of one shoe into the ground. You’re still a little stuck on names, so you can’t remember what to call her. 

“Can I help you?” You ask, and sit up a little more, rolling your shoulders. 

“How did you get that mark on your face?” She asks.

 _Ah, that’s a new one._ So far, none of the children have asked you about your face. A part of you is drawn back to your first real conversation with Dave. The child gets a smack over the back of the head from a slightly older one, and they complain under their voice. 

Maybe it’s the presence of these kids, and maybe it’s the good weather outside, but you decide to humor her. 

Making sure not to draw attention to the fact that the young one asked a rude question, you answer. 

“It was a huge beast,” you say, trying for ominous. 

The yard almost goes quiet, like half the children were listening in. A few of them come closer, and the girl in front of you goes wide-eyed. It occurs to you that you’re a terrible storyteller, and at this point you’ll have to grit your teeth and bear it. 

“Was it really?!” She asks, eager, obviously not having expected a response. 

“This beast wasn’t like any that you know. It was hurting my troops – my friends, and I had to protect them,” you continue, with a gulp. “She was on her last leg, and challenged me to a duel. I thought I wasn’t going to make it.”

The children are drawing close, and you have a small crowd now. 

“But I did, obviously. She was mighty, and strong, and beautiful. And she knew she was going to lose, but she was proud, and put up a valiant fight.”

M, next to you, is looking at you with awe. It’s prompting you to continue, with little gusto. It’s like telling a yarn at a tavern, if you wanted to compare drunken soldiers to gullible children. “I managed to get a lucky swipe in, and I won. She was dead. My troops were safe from the beast that day.”

“Why do you seem so sad, though?” The little girl asks you. She seems excited by your story, but she also looks a little confused. You’re not surprised by her perceptiveness, and note that she might make a good archer. You decide to answer with honesty. 

“It was sad. Having to defeat such a magnificent being in that way,” you finish. There’s nowhere to go from here, in your thoughts. Sinking a little, you wave your hand, hoping to wave them off. “Let this be a lesson to all of you children. There are always consequences, but you must try to do as much good as possible.”

The children get the idea, and your incredibly cheap and overdone ‘life lesson’ spiel, and trickle away. A few of them chatter excitedly about the story, and you’re at least glad that you got to give them that. The story feels less… terrifying to consider, that way, when you tell it like that. Like a… story. It still shakes you, however, and the guilt that begins to course through your veins feels like slime and ice. 

“And here you told me that it was a dragon what made you uglier ‘n mud.”

You jump nearly out of your skin, and have to breathe a bit before turning to regard Dave. Being around children seems to have rid you a little of the impulse to be ready to fight when surprised. It’s interesting to not immediately feel like you should be fending for your life as Dave steps forward, away from the door frame, and into your line of sight. It’s… nice. To not be terrified.

“You think I’m uglier than mud?” You decide to ask.

“Only at the end of the week,” Dave replies. 

“I didn’t know if telling the children that it was a dragon would be wise,” you offer, trying to gauge Dave’s reaction. He doesn’t seem angry, or upset about you telling them about the dragon. It takes you a moment before you realize that you hadn’t told him the full story yet. Not that you’re planning on giving him details, ever, because he would never think of you the same way again. 

Dave steps out, and stares at you out of the corner of his eye. You’re getting better at understanding the little quirks of his facial expressions, which are never completely open. You’ve spent a good deal of time (more than before at least) with him, even sitting in on a few of his sword training lessons, and giving the trainees tips at his behest. 

You’ve learned that Dave is very good at putting up a façade, but that underneath that, he’s earnest, eager to please and somehow shy despite his overall level of external confidence. He values his friends and friendships to a point of it being irritating sometimes, especially with how much he babbles like a brook, and how often that babbling devolves into talking about John Egbert. Who you could honestly not care much about.

Now, when you go to Jane’s in the evenings, the visits are much less frequent, and usually spent in the presence of Dave. Still silent, yes, but now you’re sitting at the same table and sharing the wine bottle instead of drinking it alone. You still drink much more than he does, and he doesn’t fault you for it or mention it. 

The first time you went back to the restaurant on the bridge after the festival, Jane was so glad to see you. She’d run up and bundled you into her arms, and immediately sat you down at your favorite table. “I’ve been saving it for you every evening,” she’ claimed, and bustled around until you had your usual order. This time, when she’d accepted the coin you pushed at her, it was with a pat to your shoulder. 

“My best customer,” she’d said. 

There had been a rustle from just behind her, and Dave had popped up from behind the wall. 

“Make that two servings, Janey,” he’d almost chirped, with essentially the same blank face as usual. It’d surprised you so much, that you didn’t protest when she looked to you, and then trotted away to bring more of the same. 

Dave had sat down next to you, on the other side of your crutches, and shot you a look. Would his presence here now be part of this “friendship?” 

Somehow, though, he hadn’t disrupted your otherwise quiet evening. He’d eaten his soup and bread just as silently as you, and sipped the plum wine, and you grew so used to his presence that it didn’t phase you in the least when he left, then did the same thing the next day, and then three days later when you were at the restaurant and resuming your previous evening schedule. 

Back in the present, at the orphanage, Dave is still staring at you… a little skeptically, you can see now. 

“That might have been for the best,” he finally says, and you sink a little in relief at his approval of your storytelling method. “Though… you don’t need to coddle them.”

“It was also a measure I took to not tell them that I was a… ,” you edge around actually voicing what you had done in the past, aloud to Dave. Even though he already knows, by now. 

Comprehension dawns on Dave’s eyes, shown just in the set of his eyebrows, and he nods. “That makes sense. Still, even with that, they don’t need to be coddled. These are orphans, Vantas, and they were still orphans in a time of war.”

“I’m obviously not used to dealing with children yet, Strider. Besides, I don’t want them telling the town. They judge me enough already.”

“Yes, I know,” he says. It ends that line of discussion. 

 

* * *

 

Later, you and Dave walk together to Crocker’s restaurant, with Aradia flitting about impatiently overhead. 

“Thank you for not asking about it,” you say, as you round a corner. Dave looks confused.

“About what?” He asks.

“About… the fight,” you answer, and crutch along some more. Realization dawns on his face, and the corner of his mouth pulls up in a grin before he lets it settle there, like pebbles in a gold sieve. The grin is strange to you, since you’re talking about such a serious subject. You don’t mention it. 

“I’m sure you’ll tell me at some point, if I need to know,” he shoots right back, and opens a small gate. It’s then that you notice that the two of you are at the elevator that leads to the top of the bridge. Stepping in, you try again.

“You might not want to know, Strider,” you say. It’s almost as if you want to tell him, somewhere in your gut. But then, you never want him to find out. It’s nauseating.

“Let me decide that, Vantas,” he says, stepping through and into the space.

“Alright.”

The two of you ride the elevator to the top, and ascend to the restaurant, where you eat in peace. Dave tells you a joke that makes you want to smile. You think you manage a little of one, and he looks incredibly proud of himself.

 

* * *

 

Two months after the festival, it’s been getting hotter and hotter outside. In the last few weeks, your mother hasn’t been able to get much work on the leg done as far as you know, so it’s been out of mind and out of sight. She’s been busy with other things. A lot of people needed simple repairs after the storm, and then she was commissioned to make new gates for the Egbert house. 

You’re on your way back from the wood shed with a couple of logs for the house hearth, when you see a cat creeping into the door of the forge building. There are a few cats that hang around here, sometimes, and one or two live comfortably under the porch. When it gets very cold, Mother lets them sleep just inside the house and shop so long as they don’t make too much ruckuss, and the cats in turn keep the mice away from her leathers, tools and supplies for the smithery. 

Of course, then, you have to wander over to the building to shoo the animal away. 

“You shouldn’t be in here, cat!” You call out into the near-silent building that the feline slinked into. A small furry blur whips out past your ankle, following an even smaller furry blur. 

Satisfied that the pest is gone, you’re about to leave. But something catches your eye. 

It looks like struts, and a socket joint, laying out on the table. The joint is connected on one end to the struts, and on the other to a slightly curved, smooth flat bit that has beveled and polished edges. You can tell from a quick glance that this is the foot. A closer examination of the blueprints on the wall tells you that you’re correct. 

It feels too soon, suddenly, despite knowing that the thing exists. Because here lies physical evidence of everything you don’t deserve, and everything that you can’t accept yet. Everything you’ve lost, regained in such a simple gesture as regaining even a false limb? Everything you’ve had taken from you, and it’s suddenly there? All of your guilt, with no physical evidence to show for it? 

The next thing you register, you’re out in the field, sitting on your rock again. The wind is blowing your slightly-too-long hair around your face, and it’s itching your eyes and nose. A flash of gold embroidery catches your eye, but you’re too tired to move your head and capture the sight in full.

Dave’s voice is saying something, and you aren’t answering. He keeps trying to talk to you, at least…. Three more times. But you can’t move, and everything is muffled. Everything is muffled aside from the stone beneath your fingertips, harsh and grating on your nails. You don’t deserve his persistence, anyway. After all, you’re so pathetic. A pathetic monster, you watch yourself as if apart from your flesh. 

Here you were doing so well; it’s been almost three months since your last episode. Turns out you can’t even handle seeing the blueprints for your own… leg… without going into a light-damned catatonic state. 

There’s a face in front of your face, then, familiar, angular, tanned. No visor, but… red eyes. Dave. You manage to focus on him, snapping back into your own body. He stares at you for a good few minutes, not trying to talk again. The embarrassment from what you’ve made of yourself today creeps up on you, and it becomes very hard to look at him. So you don’t. 

Wisely, he seems to decide to leave you here, and then you’re alone.

It’s maybe two hours later that you find the will in you to move inside. The night air drags a little on your skin, and a mosquito or three bite the exposed backs of your hands and neck. Night? Time to go inside. Maybe you can sleep, and you’ll feel more in the morning. 

Voices are slipping out from the cracks around the door, and the open window, when you draw near. It’s your mother, and… Dave? You can understand what they’re saying, now, at least. Maybe it’d be best if you stayed on the porch for now. 

“Is he okay?” That’s Dave.

“Yes, sometimes he just gets… overwhelmed. I guess. It hasn’t happened this bad for some time. Having him inside and abed for as long as he was… it doesn’t seem like it was very good on his mind, or… something. I don’t know son, I’m just a smith. Just do what you normally do, and treat him kindly.”

“He just…” Dave sounds pained, a contrast to your mother’s resigned tone. “He just wasn’t listening to me. He wasn’t even acting like I was there.” You did this to Dave, and your mother. 

“Well,” you can hear your mother say, “He should be getting back soon. Though…” She draws off into silence. “I saw the workshop door open when I got here.” There’s some quieter murmuring that you only halfheartedly listen to.

“Oh, so he saw the leg and…”

“Whatever set it off, he’ll be stronger next time. That’s how it works for him. He needs to work through some things with the leg.”

You decide that it’s a wonderful moment to open the door and go inside. They’ve been talking about you enough. Dave has the grace to look guilty when you peg him with a stare, and your mother comes up to you, to feel your face. The familiar sound of her heavy footsteps settles something that had been churning in your gut, and you sigh as her cool fingertips touch the apples of your cheeks, and forehead.

“Oh good, dear, you’re not too hot. No sunburn today. Sit down, I’ll serve you some stew and then you can go to bed. You just look so tired.”

“Strider,” you say. And you can’t say much more than that, right now. She seems to understand. 

“Dave was just leaving, weren’t you dear?” She asks, obviously prompting. 

“Yes, I was,” he agrees. He seems to think for a minute after saying that, and you crutch over to the table and sit down. “The kids asked if you were coming out tomorrow.”

“I don’t really feel like it,” you say, still looking down. Even though you started feeling and talking again, everything feels blank. You wish you weren’t this way right now. Dave’s wearing leather gloves today, and you can hear them wrench as he clenches his fist. 

“Then let me take you somewhere.”

You don’t answer. Your mother sets a bowl in front of you, and you bring it up to your face, to drink the broth.

Dave lets out a breath, like he wants to, but he wouldn’t ever push it. 

“Alright then. I’ll be by after midday. Please… don’t go anywhere.” _Emotionally or physically._

It’s something oddly warm in his tone, ardent but weak, that leads you to find yourself actually looking at him. That bit of neediness in his voice grounds you, and you can feel the table under you, and the floor beneath your feet. 

“Okay,” you agree, and you see him sigh, and the rest of the room sighs with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all! i chose to jump forward in time a couple times, didn't i! the next chapter is happy, i swear. -_-;;; (for real tho it is)
> 
> so my apologies for how i described his specific mental crash, if i offended anyone or got anything very wrong in anyone's opinion! i try to go from experience on that kind of thing, etc etc. i was in a tiny bit of a dead zone on this chapter and it kinda shows! anyhoo
> 
> As usual, I love y'all, and I hope everyone is having a wonderful week! Be strong in the face of your adversities and you'll make it!  
> After all, you can do anything. And your best is always enough. :)
> 
> Sorry for that sentimental bit and the long a/n!


	12. EPISODE 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave takes Karkat to get a little bit of fresh air. They talk a lot, have some lunch, and watch a fully-grown dragon play entirely more than she should at her age.

The next day, Dave arrives at your mother’s house just before noon, when it starts getting hot. His hands are twitching a little when you answer the door, and he’s holding a helmet in one hand. Despite the nervousness apparent in his twitching fingers, he looks excited. Anxious, but excited. How you can discern all this just by looking at him is a miracle, but over the last weeks you’ve gotten much better at telling his moods apart. 

You’re still feeling a bit numb from yesterday. Recovery was much slower last time this happened. It had taken you nearly three whole days to get back to the state you had been in before the episode. This time, though, you can actually feel yourself getting a little apprehensive about wherever Dave wants to take you. As opposed to feeling nothing at all, that is.

Wait… he’s holding a helmet, you notice again through the moody haze. And it’s not his personal helmet. It’s basic, gray, turning in his fingers and glinting against the light. 

“What is that, Strider?” You ask him, already exhausted. You woke up tired, and this isn’t improving things. 

“Well, uh, the thing is…”

“You didn’t tell me that we would be riding Aradia anywhere,” you attempt to scold, wincing when it only comes out as a more-sleepy-than-irritated grumble. 

“Yeah, but uh.” He drops off, looking a little guilty. Still excited, though. Somehow. 

It’s half his excitement that makes you go with what he wants, and half your own internal commitment to your friendship. Some very small part of you wants to get out of the house, as well, even if the biggest part wants you to just go lay back down in bed and forget that he even wants anything.

“Finish your thought, please, Strider,” you sigh, and move the rest of the way out of the door. You lock it behind you, and slip the key into your pocket. 

“Uh, the only way to get there is by flying. I mean the only way to get there for you. Because of your leg,” he finishes, finally. And he looks at you expectantly. 

“Tactful,” you let him know. He grins just with the corner of his mouth. It hurts in your chest. 

Feeling like you owe him for yesterday, though, you move off of the porch, and turn to look at him. Aradia leaps to the ground next to you, creating a billowing wind that ruffles your pants and tunic shirt. Gesturing for him to put the thing on you, you otherwise remain still as possible and wait for him to gear you up. However much this could be called “gearing up.”

His fingers are careful and dry as they work to apply the pieces of metal and glass to your head in a way that will comfortably fit. A small noise comes from the very back of his throat that you’ve learned means satisfaction, and he snaps something shut on the left point of your crown. 

At a vaguely negative grunt from you, he explains, “We’ll remove it when we get there. I figured you could use a face shield this time, so you could actually see where we were going.”

You open your eyes, then. Everything in the world around you is slightly dimmer, as if some of the bright sun is being duly blocked. The grass, the path, the porch, they’re all in sharp detail. For some reason, you expected the visor to create a warp on the corners, or make things blurry. Nothing of the sort is happening, and you let your eyes flick about in a small gesture of wonderment. 

Dave is gesticulating at you, motioning for you to come forward, and getting down on a knee so that he can help you up into Aradia’s saddle. She’s made herself very still, and lower than she gets for Dave, for this. It hearkens back to the festival, and you can remember many other times when you’ve seen Dave easily leap from something to catch himself on the saddle, or swing around onto her moving back. It’s kind that she’s being patient for you. 

_If you fall, I’ll make sure to catch you! You would go splat!_

The sudden intrusion in your thoughts makes you choke not a small amount on your own spittle. An embarrassing twenty seconds later and you’re making sure to not take any more of Dave’s patience, and move forward to climb up. 

“I wasn’t worried about that,” you tell her, sending her a sharp look. 

A lighthearted giggle echoes off the corners of your consciousness, and it’s like sweet bells and the smell of summer wildflowers. _But now you are!_ She throws back at you. 

Oh gods. Dave looks a little amused by the exchange, guessing at what he can’t hear, obviously. In response to his tiny smirk, you make sure to set your foot down a little too firmly on his thigh when you hoist yourself up. It’s hard to remember how you did it last time, mounting you mean, and you end up laying your body across the saddle and wiggling to get the proper legs on the correct sides. Eventually you’re able to fidget enough so that you’re mounted in the right direction. Dave moves to strap your crutches under your left thigh, then mounts up himself. Like last time, he situates behind you. And like last time, he reaches around you to grip the saddle, before whistling a soft note to Aradia. 

_He only did that for your benefit, you know, she laughs into your head, So that you wouldn’t be so surprised you’d faint! That’d be bad!_

The thoughts barely register, before you’re moving with the wind into the air. Aradia’s claws graze the grass for a few seconds, leveling out and giving you an opportunity to grip her sides with your legs, before she shoots up along an updraft, and begins to undulate as her wind magics wrap around the three of you. Soon enough, her teasing is lost to the moment.

It’s exhilarating, and you’re glad for the visor you were given as air buffets your bare cheeks and neck. The midday air is sucked in through your nose and readily exhaled through your mouth as you sigh. Dave chuckles behind you, but doesn’t say anything else. His chin hooks onto your shoulder, you assume for ease of sight and not having to crane his neck. This time, there’s no rapid descent, and it seems like there’s no real urge to get anywhere particularly fast. 

Yes, Aradia flies very speedily through the air. Every so often smoke will exhale from her mouth, as if her fire bladder is pumping double time with her heaving. Is this part of the magic that helps her fly? 

It’s easy to look up and watch the sky, examine the clouds, and then look down at the bustling town below. The height doesn’t frighten you. Dave is definitely used to it, seeing as this is how he simply gets around. The townsfolk moving in the canyon look very different from up here, without the side of the bridge to obstruct your bird’s-eye view. 

At some point, Aradia begins to curve toward the canyon wall. There is an outcropping you’d never noticed before, clearly a large opening in the cliff face, with a sort of… temple, or barn, set into the front? There are massive doors on the front of it that currently sit open, and a window on both the top right and left. The outside of this… building-type thing is carved ornately, covered in old and chipping paint. It’s welcoming. 

As you near it, Aradia begins to slow down. You can see almost gauzy curtains blowing on the door frame, one on each side and obviously split down the middle. They turn out to be larger than you had first thought, you find, as you arrive at the door. Their edges are fringed, and the fringe brushes your arm on the way in. The doorway is generous enough to allow Aradia and her passengers with more than enough extra moving space. 

Once you’re fully inside, and your eyes have adjusted to the light, it’s obvious. 

This is where Dave lives. His... what do they even call this place? 

You pull off the helmet. Most of the area is a massive room carved out of the cliff face. The walls are smooth stone and draped with tapestries. One of the tapestries is clearly burnt, and you wonder briefly which of the dragons did it. Looking around, you see evidence of Dirk living here, with the large rolls of paper stacked against one wall, next to a few boxes of different tools. 

The floor is half-covered by large, hay-filled mats, and piles of seemingly random debris, with some smaller pillows and multicolored blankets in a mound against the wall. Most of the blankets seem to be made of some hardier materials, and a lot of them appear filled with holes. Dragon hazard? 

Dave dismounts gracefully, holding out his hands to help you down. Distracted by how foreign this place seems, you accept without protest, and lean with one hand on the dragon while Dave unstraps your crutches. While he’s doing this, you notice a set of stairs leading up the back wall and around to a loft at the front of the massive room. Ah, the windows from earlier. 

How did you not notice this here? It doesn’t seem reachable by anyone on foot, unless you missed something big. Maybe it’s that you have to climb down, on a ladder? It would surely be impassable by you, then. The mess makes it seem like they don’t get a whole lot of company, though honestly Dave doesn’t seem unnerved at all by your presence. Are you that close?

A stiff breeze disturbs the curtains thoroughly, and Dave hands you your crutches. 

“You like it? Those are our rooms up there,” he says, and you look at him with some surprise plain on your face. 

“You live and sleep here?” You ask. It’s a stupid question to which you already know the answer, and Dave waves a hand at the whole thing. 

“Yeah. It’s pretty awesome, isn’t it.”

“Pretty messy, more like,” you mumble. 

_These are mine!_ Aradia says into your mind’s ear. She’s already across the room, sans-saddle. Dave had unstrapped it while you weren’t paying attention, you guess, because it’s resting on a saddle horse near the door. The ruby dragon goes over to the mound and pulls out a massive black blanket that’s laced with silver thread and half in tatters, and drags it out where you can see it. _This is the best one, honestly! It was used as part of a big fancy funeral, and they let me keep it! I’ve only eaten a little of it, it’s so delicious!_

“Blankets are her thing, for some reason. Or pieces of cloth, really. The more morbid the connection, the better, apparently,” Dave explains, coming up next to you. 

“That’s… interesting,” you reply, and he chuckles. 

“Come on, I’ll show you the loft. I usually take the ladder, but you’re here. You need help with the stairs at all?” Dave asks, moving toward the staircase. 

“I’ve got it,” you reply, still a little surprised by this whole thing, not even thinking to protest his assistance with something as simple as stairs. Normally his concern for you is irritating, despite him constantly asking if you require help with even simple tasks. He has to know how capable you are, by now. 

At the top of the stairs is a curtained section of loft, maybe fifteen by fifteen feet. It’s littered with knickknacks, small shiny objects, books, and a decent pile of clothes in the corner. There are a few open pots of paint on the floor, some charcoal for drawing or writing, and stacks of paper on the short desk. The desk has a pillow in front of it, seemingly used for sitting upon. In the corner, just to the right of the window and against the cave wall, is what you can only describe as a…

“Is this a nest?” You wonder, moving a little closer. You’re a little worried about smashing things with your crutches in this room, even with a mostly clear path through the center. 

Dave snorts. 

“I usually call it a bed, honestly. Make all the bird references you like, though. We tend to call our home The Roost, so it’s not like I could blame you,” Dave replies, and moves forward as if to tidy up some of his things. 

“It’s a giant round pile of pillows and blankets on top of what looks like a round mattress. What else am I supposed to call it?” You ask, sneering a little. 

“A bed. Like I said,” he answers, echoing himself. Unaffected.

Choosing to look around some more instead of arguing, you take a gander at the desk. There are letters there from someone named Terezi in the capital, countless letters from John, and one from Jade that bears the queen’s seal. It makes you jolt to see the seal, and you look away almost as soon as you started paying attention, a trickle of something undefinable trying to warm its way into your skin just over your spine. 

“Dirk has a space like this next to the other window, though his doesn’t have stairs. I doubt you’d want to see it anyway,” Dave explains, and to ushers you out. You go, and start back down the stairs with him close behind. 

“He’s not here, then?” You ask. 

“Nah, I got him to teach my classes today, at the training ground. I owe him big time, but it’s worth it.”

When you get back down to the ground floor, Aradia comes straight up to you. Her pupils are wide as she moves into your space, snuffling at your close with unguarded interest. You back away, skittish, but she continues right on into your personal bubble, nuzzling her face into your chest. 

It’s odd, and a little frightening. Dave is grinning, though, so it can’t be bad. You recall her doing this with him, several times before. The main difference is that you’re stiff as a board as she digs her hard cheek into the center of your sternum, rolling her face around until just her forehead is poking into the flat space between your pectorals. It’s impossible to know what to do with your hands, and the longer she’s this close to you, the greater your general sense of unease is. Feelings you can’t place the origin of, guilt, anxiety, sadness, reactionary panic, fill your lungs. 

Dave is still grinning a bit when you look back up at him, but the longer you stare at his face, the more drawn his expression becomes. He’s looking at you strangely and a little suspiciously, like you’ve done something very wrong. Is it that he can tell how wary you are? Can she hear your panicked heartbeat, and is telling Dave? Aradia is sweet, and tolerable, and you’re not doing anything except standing there, either. Something tells you that it’s not the right reaction in this situation.

_Yes, I can,_ Aradia whispers at you. _I am not telling him._

It’s a small relief to know, but you almost wish you didn’t. Aradia doesn’t seem perturbed by your sudden standoffishness, but…

You don’t want Dave to worry.

Trying to reverse the decomposition of his happier expression, you wave him off, and carefully put a hand on Aradia’s snout and nudge her, signaling that it should be done. “Are you scent marking me? Like a cat?”

This makes Dave chuckle a little, and that’s as much as uproarious laughter from almost anyone else. 

“That’s very close, actually,” he confirms, and you’re a little surprised. Why hadn’t you noticed that? Even with Kankri and your father? Was Kankri less possessive, or did you just not notice? You did hug his snout an awful lot as a sprout.

_I am not a meowbeast!_ Aradia pouts, in the void of thought, and pulls away. You notice how careful she is to not gore you with her horns or open her maw while too close. She’s cautious. It’s a little comforting. She goes right over to the other side of the room, turning a tight circle around Dave before crawling over to the mound of blankets and flopping down. Dave makes a frustrated face at her, before turning quickly around and heading toward a cabinet in the corner, near Dirk’s rolls of paper. 

“Well, we shouldn’t get too comfortable,” he says, and you wait for an explanation to the statement that never comes. 

“Why not?” You ask, after maybe three minutes of waiting, in which you watch him pull a few things out of the cabinet and organize them in his bag. The inside of the cabinet door has something etched on it. Looking at the contents of the cabinet, you can see food, wine, and what looks like some extra paints on a low shelf. Perhaps the etching is a preservation rune? If this is a food cabinet, that would make a lot of sense. Briefly you contemplate commissioning one from the sorceresses Lalonde, for your mother’s food storage. She has a fairly sealed storage for her food already, but magical defense against spoiling is never a bad thing.

“Because we,” Dave replies, finishing his packing, turning and standing to face you head-on, “Are going to have a picnic.”

“A… pick nick?” The word is unfamiliar to your ears. Is it a regional thing? 

“P-I-C-N-I-C. Around here, it’s just eating outside,” he answers. Aradia, at the sound of this extravaganza, jumps from the floor, sending several blankets flying, fluttering down to the mats covering the floor. 

Dave waits for her to settle down a bit, and then before you can blink twice, he’s re-strapping her saddle. 

 

* * *

 

When you arrive at wherever Dave decided to take you, you’re already lost. It was impossible to figure out where you were going from the sky without your common points of reference, and you got here much faster than you traveled to the roost. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to want to get you even more lost, and only walks a short distance, letting you stay atop Aradia’s back while she walks beside him, before the both of you come to a stop at a slow, babbling river. 

A gully, dappled in sunlight that sifts through the trees, is pleasantly warm and covered in a thin, light green grass. The grass is soft-looking, and fresh. A few flowers are attempting to sprout in it, pushing through with yellow petals to greet the afternoon. 

As soon as you have your crutches back under your arms, Dave is once more removing Aradia’s saddle. The last buckle is undone, and Aradia is already halfway across the small clearing, diving smoothly into the grass to nose delicately at the flowers. Dave rests the saddle across a low-handing branch, and dusts off his hands. Aradia stays in the grass, rolling about and breathing deeply. 

“If you’re not out of cat references, now would be a great time,” Dave tells you, and you can’t help but loose a little laugh. It is very catlike, what she’s doing. Or doglike, if you remember correctly. One of the children at the orphanage recently found a puppy. The Maryams agreed to house it only if the child would train it, and the dog would catch the bigger rats that the cats wouldn’t always go for. The puppy doesn’t chase the cats, which was good. And it loves to roll in the dust.

“Is it just a grass she in peculiar likes, or is it all dragons?” You ask, following Dave as he moves into a patch of half-sunlight. He plunks himself down in the ankle-high grass, making sure to stay clear of Aradia’s movements. 

“All dragons. Though Aradia has a remarkable lack of self-control when she’s not in the saddle. Damara doesn’t do this,” Dave answers. He seems to realize that he’s mentioned another name, and hurries to explain that as well. “Damara is Dirk’s serpent. She just likes to lay in it and nap. It still makes her a little woozy, though. Not to an unsafe level, so don’t worry.” He’s not bothering to watch the ruby serpent, as he takes off his bag, and removes from it a few items wrapped in linen. 

As you carefully lower down beside him, he lays out the largest piece of cloth. On top of it, he sets out some fairly fresh-seeming bread, cheese, and what looks like a large summer sausage. Next to all that, he places two plump apples, and a large dark glass bottle. 

“Cider,” he clarifies, and then draws two cups and a few small knives from the bag, as well. It’s fairly warm outside, even in the shade, so you’re grateful when he pours the cider first. It’s not too strong, by the smell, which you’re grateful for, and tastes like honey mead when you take a sip. 

“Delicious,” you remark, for his benefit. Dave looks up from where he’s cutting up some of the cheese and sausage to give you a brief grin. 

“Mom makes it, from her own apples. She and Rose like their drink a little too much, sometimes, but they can make a damn good cider.”

“Ah,” you reply, and wait patiently for him to give you a sign that he’s done preparing what food he brought. 

While you’ve been distracted by what his hands are doing, Aradia has gone more still and restful in the grass. Her tail still swishes from side to side, making the blades sway, but she’s calm enough that birds have begun to sing again. Of course, as soon as you dare to think that, she leaps up, and dives into the water. It’s apparently deep enough for her to entirely submerge, and she does, making the surface of the water froth. 

Dave doesn’t seem concerned when she doesn’t resurface for a minute or two, leaning back on his hands and crossing his legs while he takes a bite of cheese. 

You’re taking a mouthful of bread and sausage when she does splash quite noisily from the deep river pool, to climb rather ungracefully up onto the large natural rock dam to your right. There’s a good-sized catfish in her mouth, and she looks very proud of herself for having caught it. Dave gives a little whoop, and you choose to finish your bread. Her exit from the water had splashed the both of you, a bit, but you don’t find yourself minding with the heat of the day. 

At some point, the cider is half gone, and the food sits warmly in your bellies. Aradia had been fed both apple cores and the remainder of the sausage, enveloping them in a small burst of fire before snapping her jaws closed over the snack. The catfish, whiskers and all, is nowhere to be seen, disappeared into the dragon’s stomach. 

Full, the three of you sit in peace in the grass. It’s so calm and relaxing that you almost forget about yesterday. That said, the situation is just a little blip in your mind, barely noticeable but for the very far-thrown inkling that something is wrong. It’s so easily smothered, when the light crosses your closed eyelids, and you can feel the summer crawling across the land toward the evening.

Not usually the person to speak first, but feeling like the soft air is begging for conversation, you take a deep breath. Dave flops backwards into the grass, hands beneath his head and legs crossed at the ankle. Whatever comes to mind falls from your mouth. 

“So Aradia was too young, as well, when you bonded with her?” You ask. 

“Yeah. You know about the life span thing?” Dave asks in return, so easily. Was he expecting the question? 

“My father was a rider,” you remind him, for clarity that you’re talking about the same thing. 

“Right, right,” Dave mumbles. When you look over at him, his eyes are closed against a shaft of light. You’d not noticed how light his eyelashes were, before, and when they flip open, his red orbs are shocking against them. 

The next part seems less rehearsed and ready, and he stumbles over a few of the words. “But did you know that by tradition, dragons and humans are bonded around the same age, and then grow with each other as the human normally would until they reach adulthood?” 

“Ah. No, I didn’t,” you admit, wondering where this train of thought is going. Your father had been much younger than Kankri, in proportion and in actual age. Their union was brought of necessity. Luckily, Kankri had been strong of mind for his age, and very willing to bond with a human that had compatible magic. There had been no complications.

“Yeah. So me ‘n A were both around the mental age of a six year old human child, both wanting to be, you know. Knocking over sand castles and stuff. But instead we suddenly had really serious business to get to. Just because I wanted to impress my parents.”

_Don’t give yourself all the credit, Dave,_ Aradia says, and it’s clearly in both of your heads when you both simultaneously jump. _Your magic smelled very good to me, with our matching aspects. And I wanted to be like Damara, as well._

Dave huffs out a short, curt breath. 

“She tell you that, too?” He asks you, and you look back toward the river and nod. 

“What business did you have to get to?” You ask, trying to draw away from Dave’s self-blame. 

“We had to master our combinative magic, yadda yadda, when we woke up from what I’m told was two weeks in a coma, tangled with Aradia’s whole fucking body in a ridiculously large pile of pillows, softer than the hindquarters of the softest baby,” he rambles. You pick out the important parts. 

“A coma?” It’s not surprising. A long sleep after improper bonding.

“Yeah, man. Actually, Rose apparently got affected too and made a major overhaul into the deep end of the ocean with us, and got knocked out for the count as well. Made mom almost sick to death, ya know, but rose wasn’t asleep as long as me.”

“You’re linked because you’re twins?”

“Yeah.”

There’s another one of those long silences, before Dave speaks again. “This story is surprisingly coherent. You must bring out the best in me, Vantas.”

You snort without meaning to. “Yes, I must be a magnet for personal sob stories of impossible length and depth. Please, come cry on my shoulder, It’s been dry for more than five minutes.” As soon as you say it, you start to sink into regret. But Dave… laughs. Just a little, but it’s a laugh, and not a bitter one. 

“Oh stop it, fool, I’m the only one who does this to you,” he says into his arm as it crosses to cover his face. 

“And isn’t it enough?”

Dave reaches out and gives you something that you think would be a shove if it weren’t so halfhearted. 

You think for a minute. You don’t know much about long sleeps. You had one after your last battle, you know. When you woke up with Sollux, and you didn’t know… much. “Did you know what had happened? When you woke up.” The words follow your thoughts, and you have to think them over to make sure you got them correct.

Dave catches a pause right in his mouth, chews, and swallows it like a question about life and death. “I actually remember sleeping,” he says.

“Oh?” You’re surprised, and genuinely curious.

“It was all- all fire.” His voice sounds rough, like remembering is making him relive it.

“Fire?” You almost wish you hadn’t been curious.

“Yeah. It was pain and fire and trying to control it all, ceaselessly, for what felt like years. No breaks. No brakes on the chariot to the underworld and dragonstone,” he croaks.

“I see,” you murmur.

“Yeah.”

You look toward one of the flowers nearest your left hand, and Dave looks straight ahead. He props himself up on his hands, and lets his head sag behind him to gaze up at the sky. 

“I almost flew too close to the sun,” he professes to you.

You wince. “I know how that feels.”

“Y’know, Vantas,” he begins.

“Yeah?” You ask.

“No one’s ever asked me about that before,” he says. Did you cross a line with asking? Was it a taboo question? You hear spit in the back of his throat as he inhales. The sound like someone is about to lose control in a helpless way. 

You won’t let him.

“Buck up, Strider. Can’t have you crying on me again. I just cleaned this shirt,” you attempt, making a wide swing at humor. 

Luckily, he laughs, a little wetly, and doesn’t end up saying whatever it was he was thinking about saying. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Later, Dave drops you back off at your mother’s house. His visor glints against the setting sun as he shoves his boot into the stirrup and remounts heavily. It feels like he’s hesitating before taking off, so you talk to him. 

“Hey, Strider.”

He’s a little surprised, and whips around to look at you. Aradia kicks one foot against the ground. “Yeah?” He asks.

“Thank you for today,” you say. A smile stretches briefly across his features, and you wish you could see it touching his eyes as well, if it weren’t for his visor. What a sight that would be, with a face like his. 

“Nah, don’t mention it,” he consoles. “I like hanging out with you.” 

Instead of leaving right away, he leans in, and holds out a hand to you. It’s almost too simple to just reach out and clasp his forearm in your fingers, and shake his wrist twice. Hardly caring about concealing your feelings, you let yourself grin, and you think you can see the embers of his eyes through the visor, staring intently back down at you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey!!! I promised a happy chapter, didn't i! :) It's even a little long, haha!
> 
> Sorry I posted so late at night (CST), but I hope y'all like it! Next chapter is.... >:) great. GREAT.
> 
> If I ever write or do something that deeply offends anyone or seems skeevy and I don't address it, let me know please! I would hate to keep doing it :) I've had a lot of people mentioning my attitude lately so I just wanted to make sure and put this out there as a little PSA, and because I love you all so much! 
> 
> See y'all on Sunday! <3
> 
>  
> 
> **EDIT:** Check out this awesome art a very cool cat did of In Name and In Deed Karkat and linked me, it's uncanny!! He looks so stern and his eyes are so piercing! I meant to put it in the last chapter or today's but I've been super stressed and forgot to :) [Here! ](http://poyitjdr.tumblr.com/post/142561404289/have-a-karkat-inspired-by-the-fic-in-name-and-in)
> 
> (I love fanart so much!!!)


	13. EPISODE 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's... done?

Not much happens in this village, or town, or whatever moniker it gives itself. The planting season is long over, and the townsfolk are preparing for the harvest. There’s a solstice festival came and went, though that one wasn’t near as grandiose as the one at the beginning of the planting season. Mother said one day only, a celebration at dusk that day, and so on. Then just at the end of the harvest, there will be a large harvest festival, a bit smaller than the planting festival. The word festival is starting to hurt your head, you’re hearing it so much. 

The hottest part of the year has come for this place, now, or so Dave says. It’s not as hot as some places you’ve felt, but it has been quite humid. There have been a few storms, again, though the Lalondes keep managing to protect the village enough to avoid the brunt of it. 

It’s in the depth of summer now, hot every day despite being somewhat cool at nights. Your cane was finished a few days ago. It has scrolling patterns on it, small holes and winding knots, and is headed with Aradia’s visage, done for the sole reason that you see her a lot, and it seemed like a good idea. You weren’t sure how to read the look on your mother’s face when you showed it to her. It was like a mixture of overjoyed and full of what you identified as not quite dread, but not quite excitement, either.

Mother has been giving you little comments about progress on the leg, which make you less and less tense with each one. You had expected it to do the opposite, and turn you into a coiled rope ready to lash out at the first cut. Instead, the constant exposure to news about the… leg… has made you a bit desensitized to it. Dave, when you see him, doesn’t ask about it, though, and it gives you moments of relief and clarity.

Jane Crocker had heard about the leg, most likely from your mother, and she asks about progress updates. The first time she had done so, it left you feeling rather numb, desperate, and angry. It was like sinking fully into slightly warm mud, when you noticed the contrast between her excitement and your general lack of feeling about the whole thing. Are you supposed to be excited? 

There have been a few more fittings, each one leaving you a little raw and needing some time alone or maybe in silence with Dave. Dave has become a good friend, and seems to understand you sometimes better than you yourself can understand. It doesn’t really feel like it makes sense for someone to want to be around you and understand you, much less actually do it. Someone who isn’t obligated to, at least, like your mother. 

 

* * *

 

One morning, your mother comes into your room. She knocks first, which brings you to alertness, being a light sleeper (ever since the first time you woke up with an enemy’s Morningstar three inches from your forehead). Patting footsteps cross the floor, and you open your eyes. Covered in grease stains, and a filthy rag slung over her shoulder, she waits. Taking that as a sign to sit up and pay full attention, you swing your body up to sit at least cross-legged on the mattress. 

Once you’re fully vertical and peering curiously up at her, she grins broadly, and announces something you hadn’t expected to hear. 

“The leg’s done!”

It’s… done?

Just like that? You’re perspiring. A trickle of it slides down your spine, and you know that it’s not just the relative heat of the morning. Even though the sun’s just barely come up, and it’s already too bright. Way too bright. As if someone is stretching a string over a peg, and the peg snaps, something twinges raw just underneath your molars. And your teeth hurt. Why did they not hurt before?

It's anticlimactic. It's too sudden. Too soon. No amount of updates could have prepared you mentally for this. 

There’s… a leg. There’s a new leg, and it’s supposed to be yours somehow. Your eyes cast down, without your permission, and come to rest on the stump of a thigh that makes up what’s left of your lower left side. It’s just a lump there, under the blankets, and it looks so harmless. It looks so unaffected by the circumstances. As your breath freezes in your throat, you have the delirious thought that maybe your thigh is the thing that should be excited and happy about this. Is that why you’re not feeling elation? The smile on your mother’s face twitches down even as you look back up at her. Wanting to rectify this, you try to force your own lips into some semblance of a smile, and ultimately fail when you realize your jaw is too tightly clenched to move.

Mother sits on the right side of the bed, and, after some hesitation, reaches out to place her left hand on top of the blankets, just next to your knee. 

“Dear?” She asks softly, and you’re filled with guilt. The one that killed that overjoyed smile was you. 

“I’ll… I’ll be along in a minute or five,” you force out between your teeth. It’s hard to look at her, so you don’t. Instead, you level an accusatory scowl at your lap. “Let me get dressed.”

She takes this answer and holds it tight to herself, not to let it go. “Alright then, darlin’,” she says in a rather firm voice, and you can hear it without looking. The smile is back, just a bit of one, but it’s there in the lilt at the end of her sentence. “Bring your cane when you come out.”

As soon as she’s back out of the room, and your door is closed, your head falls into your hands. The nails of the left scratch at the top edge of your forehead, the rough pain of it making you feel a bit like you’re floating. Already you can feel yourself separating from your own consciousness, and you press the thumbnail of your right hand into the center of your left, hard. The sharp sensation helps you stay centered. For her. You have to stay alright for this, because she’s been working hard on it. 

Once it feels less like your soul is splitting at the loose edge, you let your hands go. There’s a crescent on your palm, where the nail clearly entered the top few layers of skin. A bead of blood comes to the surface, and flattens out into the creases of your hand. You go back to holding your face. Nothing can make you go off the edge today. You cannot let yourself fall, and you try to scold your arms into stopping their harried tremors. 

Steadying your breathing, you tell yourself that you can do this. For her, for your mother, you can do this. After a few minutes of steady breathing, and not slipping back into the empty place, you realize something. You don’t feel the need to run. Months ago, any time she’d mentioned the leg, you’d immediately made your escape. It doesn’t feel like that today. Instead, it just feels blank. Not calm, just… blank. 

The dust motes that litter the sunbeams in the room seem to still in place for a bare few seconds, and in those few seconds, your frustration builds. It’s oddly calm inside your head, but you won’t question it. Won’t question if the constant updates on the construction helped, won’t question the sudden quiet after the tumult of the storm, won’t question your sudden motivation to get out of bed. 

The motivation desperately pushes at you, claws your feet and hands until they stutter into motion. You move at a sedate pace to don your pants, your shirt for the day, your vest, your sock and shoe on your right leg. Sooner than later, you’re sticking your so far unused cane through the belt around your waist, and grabbing your crutches. The dread that wells up in your throat is nauseatingly and angrily pushed down as you leave the house, and make your way around to the smithy. 

 

* * *

 

When you get into the building, Dave is sitting on the windowsill, just like that first fitting. He gives you a little wave and a nod, like he’s ready to jump up and follow you out, if you’re not ready. That gives you some comfort, and you nod back as you make your way over to the bench that your mother indicates next to the work table. 

No one says much of anything for a minute, and there’s a large object covered loosely with an old linen cloth, on the table just to your left. You don’t look at it. 

Dirk seems to be the first to get tired of the silence, and is the first to open his mouth. As your mother looks at you, most likely with some kind of concern on her face, you try your best to just focus on the sound of Dirk’s voice. It’s deep, very matter-of-fact, and blessedly straightforward and blunt. 

“We are all gathered here today to get your new leg attached to your body,” he says, deadpan, and then gives a moment for silence. The detached and blunt way that he’s saying things doesn’t make you cringe, and doesn’t make you want to block it out. It’s like cool water in your throat, and you drink it in in hopes that it will quench your desire for this to all be over. 

“The answer to a question nobody asked,” you mutter. It’s a deflection to cover your nausea at even the concept of what Dirk has said, and your mother reaches out to whap you lightly over the back of the head. Dave grunts out a laugh, and you hear him get whapped as well.

“Be polite, Karkat. He’s goin’ to explain the details, so you better let him,” she reprimands. None of it has any weight. It bothers you that she’s not giving you all of her ire, as she normally would. You’re not going to break if you’re mishandled, and for some reason, her treating you gently is making you want to lash out. You bite your tongue. 

Still looking down, you listen as Dirk describes the leg, and your mother crouches down to help remove your pants. It’s not surprising, so you just let it happen. Two of these three people have seen your scars before, countless times. The only exception is Dave, having only seen them once or twice, but he didn’t go running the first time he saw the horrible stump, so you don’t quite care. It’s now that you notice your mother’s forge assistant is conspicuously missing. Whatever. After all this time you don’t even remember his name.

“We have to remove part of your clothing in order to attach a belt brace, or else it won’t stay on and fully function,” Dirk says, and you glance up to see him going over a list and checking things off of it. His head seems to move in minute increments, and you get the feeling that he’s looking at your physical leg again to recheck something. It always unnerves you when he does that. Like the other things, though, you push it down and fasten the lid. 

“Don’t worry,” Dave speaks for the first time since your arrival. He sounds surprisingly sentimental, and you frown at him, suspecting shenanigans. “You can still pull down your shorts to shit.”

There they are. 

“Shut the fuck up, Strider,” you shoot back, even as you can see the cloth being whisked away out of the corner of your eye. 

“Hey, sue me for caring about your worries, man,” Dave chortles, and it helps to relax you.

Dirk is still droning on in the background, and you hadn’t realized just how much you were missing of his explanation. At the moment, he’s saying something about how he figured out the ball joint on the ankle, and how it needs to be rechecked for calibration after a week of wearing it, just to make certain that the mechanism will work like it’s supposed to even with the added weight of your body. 

His arm moves, gesturing to certain parts of the leg, and it’s easy to not follow, and just sink back into as comfortable of a place you can be, while listening to him describe a complicated machine, while not wearing pants in front of three people you know. 

It feels so abrupt when your mother gives you a subtle noise of warning, and then lifts your thigh for you. 

You catch yourself on your hand as you overbalance, and something about it feels incredibly familiar. The thought disappears when you feel cool leather on the skin of your left thigh. There is no feeling toward the bottom of the stump, so you almost wince when the chill of metal buckle touches your thigh. 

Dirk is done describing, apparently, as both his and your mother’s hands skim over your skin, and attach a few straps. His hands are cold, as if he had been the one holding the leg in place, while your mother’s are warm. It’s quiet aside from the clink of metal, the stretch of leather, and the far-off-sounding roar of the forge in the adjacent room of the building. 

One pair of hands pulls a wide belt around your waist, like those that old fishermen wear for weak backs. The other pair fastens the belt, and then moves down to straighten a strap on your thigh. The thing is heavy, heavier than you expected. 

You finally look at it.

The inside feels comfortable against your skin. Tight, but not tight enough to cut off the flow of blood. Dirk keeps describing, and you can only see these little fine details, the polished metal, the leather casing and the bare little flat pressure switches all over the side that will help unlock and relock the knee. The knee is a hinge joint, and when your mother holds it up, Dirk waves to make sure you’re paying attention, and then moves the joint back and forth. It makes these soft little clicking noises, and then a barely audible ching as something sets into place. 

This leg was not made for stealth.

That’s all you can think?

He fiddles with something, and you feel a little lightheaded. It takes you more than a few seconds to realize that it’s because you’d stopped breathing. A deep breath is taken, and everything snaps back into focus. Dirk pushes something on the side of the leg that lets it relax back into an angle again, and your mother lets the leg sit on its own. 

“That was just a pressure point I installed to help with sitting. If you squeeze across the middle of the frame, just behind the knee, it will do the same thing,” Dirk murmurs absently, looking the thing over. He uses a measuring tape to check the length of the shin, and the height of the foot, to make sure that it’s all perfectly even. He writes some notes.

A nod is all you can really manage. Now that you’re looking at the contraption, you can’t take your eyes off of it. 

This would cost thousands and thousands of gold pieces at the capital. 

And your mother and Dirk… made it for you. 

Before you really entirely register the feeling of the balance of it holding your body forward, the sets of hands are pulling back for good, and your mother is helping you slip your pants on again, over the leg this time. 

It’s hard to comprehend, suddenly… you have a leg. There’s a familiar weight on that half of your body, like a smell from your childhood, and you can feel it triggering something in you. The pants are rolled up on the left side to just below the end of the fleshy part of your thigh, and you can see the end of the machine waiting to be put to use.

“I…”

It’s like you exist in your own bubble. A chime rings, far-off, and a bird wings through a tree. A lamb bleats from the field, and everyone in the room is silent. The world is waiting for your reaction. 

There’s this thing there, where before there was nothing. 

“Thank you,” you whisper.

The lamb bleats again, and you want to look away from the leg.

All this time dreading it, and now it’s just… here. 

Lips press to your forehead, and you lean into the hand that squeezes your shoulder. You need something to ground you. Dirk removes the hand from your shoulder, and your mother leans back from you, and they both step back. Their job is done.

“Come on, Dirk, after that long night we should get some coffee and breakfast. What d’ you think?”

They stayed up all night for this? For you?

“That sounds like a great idea, ma’am,” Dirk replies, and the exhaustion is so much more evident in his voice. Of course your mother is the one that did most of the physical work, but Dirk was probably there all night to make sure the calibrating was done correctly.

“You and your brother get free repairs for as long as I’m around, y’hear?” She says as she leaves you, and rounds the corner to the house. 

“Yes, ma’am,” is said right back, with a short cough. 

It’s just you and Dave, then, once your mother and Dirk disappear from view and auditory range.

“You okay, man?” He asks you. Dread sinks through your chest, and into your lungs. It’s time to force a breath.

You don’t answer his question yet. It’s easier to just keep staring at the thing, not quite wanting to stand up yet. Maybe if you don’t stand, it won’t be real. 

“I don’t…” you stutter.

“What’s up?” His tone is as casual as ever. 

Speech is a vague impossibility that you can barely even grasp the concept of. The shine of the newly polished steel – aluminum? Mythril? – glints at you in a rather intimidating manner. It’s so much so that you find it difficult to move your arms. You manage to do just that, however, and your elbow creaks.

“I’m here for you, Karkat,” he tells you, and it’s the way he says your name that cracks the hard shell of indifference. He says your name like it’s something to not drop, and hold carefully. Like he really, truly cares. You believe it.

“How about you…” you begin, gripping the back of your own neck.

“Hmm?” He’s genuinely curious, concerned. It doesn’t hurt like anyone else’s concern. Is it because you know he doesn’t pity you?

“Take my dagger, shove it up where not even the gods want to find it, and then twist until it’s buried deeper than the fucking canyon,” you get out, sighing.

He barks out a short laugh. “I don’t think we’re close enough for that, man.”

“Fuck you, Strider,” you tell him, giving him an obscene gesture with your other hand. So your hands and arms have regained full motion, now, that’s good. He laughs again, and you loosen some more. It’s comfortable to sit in silence with him, and he doesn’t make any motions to break it or stand up. After a minute, you can look at him again. 

Dave’s face is almost open, with his visor off and his eyebrows peaked into his forelocks. He’s waiting for you to do something, but there’s no pressure, and you wonder where he learned how to be so patient. Maybe it was in dealing with Aradia. 

It takes you awhile, but you finally ask, “Can you help me stand?” 

He looks eager, but walks over quietly, bringing your cane from where it was leaned against the door. It takes him a second to brace his feet and situate the crutches away from you, but he gets one arm around your waist and helps you up. 

Before you know it, you’re a full height again, leaning on the cane you carved yourself. You look down.

There’s a piece of metal, there, right next to your shoe. It strikes you belatedly that this also belongs to you.

Wait. No it doesn’t.

A wash of pure joy filters through all of your thoughts, followed quickly by a tsunami wave of dread and regret. Guilt takes over everything else, longing loss and sadness pervading the forefront of your mind. Nausea fills every crevasse of your mouth and nose.

Dave’s voice pierces the high-pitched whining in your ears as you reel. 

“Hey, Karkat. Karkat, come on. Vantas. Answer me.”

“Oh,” you state, and focus on his face. “Hey.”

“Hey, man, you alright?” Regret clouds his expression, like he’s the one at fault. You look around, and find yourself sitting again. 

“You okay?” He asks again, the hand that was on your waist now on your shoulder, moving up to squeeze the base of your neck, at the trapezius muscles.

“Did I fall?” You ask, bewildered.

“Yeah,” he says, frowning. “I let you down easy, though.”

It feels like hours that you just sit there, blank. Fingers numb. A twitch in your right leg.

At some point, Dave’s hand begins to massage the muscle on your shoulder, gently, comforting. It reminds you strikingly of something Sollux used to do, when you’d been too stressed out by your superiors. It’s nice.

His hand leaves you. “You wanna try again?” He asks. “We can always leave it for tomorrow, if you want.”

It would make mother so happy if you could do this, though. She would be so happy. 

“No, I can…” you choke a little. “Try again.” 

With his help, you get to standing again. The elation isn’t quite there, anymore. But neither is the stark dread and overwhelming sadness. With a little swoop that you can’t identify, you notice how close Dave is to you, and that you’re taller than him at full height. Letting that thought distract you, you shift your weight to your organic leg. 

Dave lets you go, most of the way, though he keeps his arm around your waist, and his other holding the wrist of the arm you have draped around his shoulders. But he stands back, and you take your first step without thinking, leaning on your cane.

Unprompted, you take another step. The fake leg is solid under your weight, and the belts help to keep it in place while you practice shifting the knee. 

When you look over at Dave, he’s smiling. Actually smiling, with encouragement and relief in his eyes. 

It’s so… strange being at this vantage point. 

Dave lets you go, then, as you find your footing again. He keeps a hand loosely holding your upper arm, yes, but almost unexpectedly you’re standing on your own. Independent of crutches, with only a cane to help hold you up. 

As you turn to tell him to stop grinning like an idiot, you feel the hot bead of a tear slip down your cheek. Oh. 

Your mother rounds the corner, then, a bowl in hand. She stops dead. 

The bowl falls to the ground and makes a dull sound on the dirt of the path. Cracks.

It only takes two steps for her to be in front of you, and smothering you with a hug. You were wrong, she’s just about as tall as you. You’d remembered incorrectly, from before. 

“My boy,” She whimpers into your neck. “My baby boy.”

“You’re walking.”

You don’t feel anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's prob not as bad as my >:) implied buuuuuuut here it issssssss and it's full of stress!!! and karkat walked :') this chapter was so hard to write but i wanted it to feel sudden and uunexpected like it was for kk
> 
> I love you guys and I hope you're havin' a good weekend! See y'all on wednesday or thursday!
> 
> ((sorry i posted so soon ive been listening to beyonce's daddy lessons for like an hour and it gave me the will to do everything lmao))
> 
>  
> 
>  **EDIT!!!!!!!!!!:**  
>  someone brought it to my attention and I wasn't sure if I explicitly mentioned because I don't really think about it but! let it be assumed that unless I mention it otherwise, most everyone wears underwear! haha, I just realized how awkward it would be if Karkat was getting fitted and you guys just thought he was naked, but! I imagine him wearing a kind of short braies that are exclusive to this fantasy world for storytelling's sake! 
> 
>  
> 
> **I HAVE AN ANNOUNCEMENT!**
> 
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> So I will be posting two chapters a week, or desperately trying because that's what's in my backlog, up until the 14th, when there will be a 3 week hiatus because i am going to be out of the country for the first time! I'm going to ireland and the UK as a graduation present from my mom! and unfortunately my roommates cant be trusted to post up in my stead tho they will be watching my shit while im gone! haha
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> I fully intend to keep it going after that so never fear I just wanted to give you guys some warning so you didn't think i was abandoning this :)


	14. EPISODE 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Dave is equally strange for the next two weeks. He seems a little reluctant to say certain things in your presence, and you don’t see him as often as you’re used to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, but this is ~8k.

It takes about two weeks for the first muscle strains of walking… normally again to subside. You also have to get used to the added weight of the metal, though the weight of it isn’t too much more than is easy to traipse around with. It must be lightweight metals. But they’re so firm and hardy. Maybe it’s enchanted?

The empty feeling regarding your leg doesn’t go away. The excitement of others makes it easy to act normal around them… but something isn’t right. You’re using it, but it doesn’t belong there. It’s a blank sensation, like going blind to a quarter of yourself, and every time you look at the leg for more than a minute, it’s as if a dense stone has dropped violently into your gut and embedded itself.

Despite all of this, you use it. Your mother made it for you. It would hurt her to refuse it, even if it feels like it’s eating at your soul with every step. 

The day after you first walk, you stand and chop wood on our own for the first time at this house. Accomplishing this task pulls some groin muscles, and then one in your back. Of all people, Dave finds you after he gets done with whatever he’s doing for the day, seated on the stump and hunched over yourself in something near agony. He laughs, the damned fool, and helps you stand. 

Of course standing only makes it all so much worse, but at his urging, you stretch the leg out and turn it in its joint a few times, and you feel physically better. Grudgingly. Dave takes you into the house, thoroughly amused at your expense and your griping, even if he’s no longer laughing, and sits you down on a chair. This refuels the agony for a brief moment while he runs to fetch your mother. 

The previous day, the brothers had stayed for a more formal, late lunch. It had been a quiet affair, a painful meal for you. Your mother is no stranger to your quiet, so it wasn’t questioned, and she and Dirk held contented conversation over their hard work. Dave said almost nothing for the entire meal. He still offered to get up and refill your water, like he had previous to that day for the past months. Like it was still very inconvenient for you to do it yourself. A large part of you suspected habit, but a very small part also guiltily relished in the idea that things weren’t as changed, because you got… mobile. 

After all, you still get nightmares. You still get tremors at loud noises. It’s getting better, with your peaceful life in this little fishing town, but all of those problems are still very much there. That little slip-up of his told you that he would remember. Someone would know that you weren’t just fixed. 

He doesn’t come back with your mother, instead coming back inside and immediately moving in the direction of the kitchen. His hands wander the top shelf for a good minute while he searches labels, and then eventually seems to find what he needs. You recognize the soothing salts for a hot bath, and heave a sigh. 

“There is no way you’re giving me a bath, Strider,” you tell him, preparing yourself for a struggle by bracing on the nearby dining table. 

“Well no, but I will draw one for you. And force you to soak in it. On penalty of your mother giving me what she possibly said as ‘eighty lashes with a belt’ but could have also easily been ‘maybe a dash of salt’. I know you’re big and tough as nails but you can’t move and she’ll have my tail and feed it to the cats,” Dave rambles, pulling the tub out of the corner of the room and setting about filling it with water. He doesn’t even warm it up first. 

Fully unimpressed, you resign yourself to not worrying your mother, and instead, start by removing your belt and shirt. Dave raises his eyebrows at you as if that wasn’t his original want here, and continues carrying water. Somehow, it seems almost as if he’s pouring twice as much water as he’s gathering. You cast it off as a spell that you don’t want to understand before you notice his fingers swirling the bucket and his lips moving before every pour. 

“Yes, well,” you say, “I’m only going with this because of the amount of pain in my back, I’ll have you know.”

“We even told you to take it easy,” Dave says, obviously averting his eyes as you then take off shoes, socks, and pants. Since he’s seen your scars, you think nothing of it. It doesn’t quite strike you to think that he might have an aversion to nudity until you’re making a clumsy effort to undo the straps and waist hold of your metal leg. For his sake, you leave your undergarments on. 

You manage the straps eventually, being a fast learner, and lean the leg in a nearby chair. Your brain is confused at the limb’s removal. More questions of belonging shine like rusted coins from the miasma of blankness you still feel. By the time you’re lost in thought, Dave is whispering something at the bath. His eyes glow black, and his fingers seem to almost cheery at the tips. The water is lightly steaming on the surface when he stops, and something hitches in his voice when he draws a flattened hand up and away from it. It’s no longer steaming, but you can tell that it’s warm. 

Dave shoots you a wide, black-eyed grin, and you have to close your mouth. A little fear shoots down your spine. What happened to him being bad at magic, again? When you shake your head to clear it, his eyes are back to normal again and he’s no longer grinning. Something tells you he was channeling Aradia just now. You’d seen your father do it, once, when you were very small. It was frightening then, as well. 

While you’re busy thinking about your past again, Dave is sprinkling some of the contents of the jar over the surface. Soon enough, the water turns a lovely milky-white shade, and he walks over to help hoist you over his shoulder. 

As you’re lowering into the tub, you forget about removing your undergarments entirely, because almost instantly, you feel relief. Dave snorts. As your eyes are closing in the heat of the water, he lifts a hand toward you, looks like he wants to tell you something. Like that’s the reason he came here today. He doesn’t, though, and just pulls up a chair to ramble quietly at you while you grumble back for the next thirty minutes.

 

* * *

 

Dave is equally strange for the next two weeks. He seems a little reluctant to say certain things in your presence, and you don’t see him as often as you’re used to.

It puts you on edge. You have enough to worry about and dwell on, but it puts you on a little edge when you’re with him. Like you’re expecting something. But you still trust him. Something about the way that he acts, and has been so kind to you… it’s a harsh feeling to realize you trust him, for some reason. There aren’t too many that you really, truly trust. 

On the dawn of the second day of the third week, Dave shows up in the morning at your mother’s house, holding a bag that’s obviously meant to carry supplies for an outing. Aradia is twitching eagerly behind him, and you walk out, leaning on your cane. You’d had a feeling today, and you were already dressed, with a good boot on your right foot. Dave is grinning at you, this time entirely him. 

“Come on, man, I wanna take you to a really special place. But we have to go to town first, and get some stuff,” he tells you. A glance at your cane, and he adds, “We can fly down to town and then to the place I want to go to.”

You would be flattered by his concern if you weren’t so able to move without pain already. In the case that you can walk on the leg on your own entirely, like this one, his care for your pain is almost laughable. Instead of laughing, though, you scowl at him. “I am perfectly capable of walking.”

“It’ll also be faster to get down there if we’re flying,” he reminds you, and you have to give him another withering look. 

As you step toward Aradia, you see him give you a self-satisfied gander, and then help you hop on up. It’s still a little difficult you find to mount the saddle, to your frustration. It’s not as bad as when you were on crutches, but it’s still a little annoying. 

 

* * *

 

When you and Dave arrive in town, he runs off to grab a rope, of all things, and an extra water skin. You set about collecting some food, for lunch. With the smoked meat, cheese and bread in your bag, you try to find Dave. He’s wandered off who knows where by now, and it seems like a better idea to just make your camp at the fountain where Aradia had dropped the two of you off. She’s currently drinking from it, and you walk up to her.

It still unnerves you, interacting with her, so you raise your fingers in a little wave and sit astride the side of the fountain. It’s a relief to get weight off your braced leg, even if you’d gotten used to aches and pains days ago. Aradia gives you an odd look at some part of your discomfort, and you avert your eyes. 

A pair of the ugliest striped trousers you’ve ever seen plant themselves in your vision while you’re separating the food into two portions. 

“You seem like an intelligent man. Can you tell me where the chapel is? I hear Egbert is there, and I must have word with him,” a deep voice says, and you look up. Black hair, sneer, skin so pale he mustn’t see much daylight. He doesn’t belong here, in this village. It’s obvious. Why is he talking to you, then, with your scars and your threadbare shirt? Is it because of your obviously expensive prosthetic leg? It wouldn’t surprise you, however unusual he is. No normal lowborn or common class person could afford something like this, and this town isn’t poor, but it’s certainly not wealthy.

 _‘You look like an intelligent man,’ what a piece of dirt._ Aradia giggles in your head, and you grin at her weakly. The man is about to open his mouth with a frown, probably to ask you just what’s so funny, when Dave walks up. 

“That’s a lot of damn rings on your hands, there,” he says, coming up to stand next to you. The man recoils a little, looking somewhat surprised. It isn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility that he was completely taken aback by either what Dave said or his sudden appearance, so you don’t think too much of it. 

“Yes, they belonged to my son,” he says, and looks back from Dave to you. It’s a significant look, and a little out of place in this conversation, just like everything else about him. “He died in the war.” Oh, so it’s not out of place. Your heart hardens in your chest, and you give him a stony once-over. So many people died in the war. He can see your missing leg and your scars and he knows that you will understand. It’s very unlike you to be the comforting type, but you give him a little nod.

Dave straightens visibly, and hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “The chapel, right? It’s down the main road, and then the third branching left. Huge, lots of light and flowers, can’t miss it,” he tells the man, and gets a stiff nod in return. One hand almost covered in shining jewelry shoves back into an ugly pants pocket, and the other straightens his tailcoat as he turns past them and walks away. A tailcoat, in this heat. Amazing. 

His eyes are on you, over his shoulder, as he walks away.

Obviously trying to lighten the mood, Dave holds up his purchases to show you, and places a second water skin in your hands. This one won’t be enchanted like the other, like his, to always produce more water, but it’ll be good to have one on you. It’s easy to attach it to your belt. 

 

* * *

 

Fifteen minutes later, you and Dave dismount in front of a cave a ways down the beach from the town. Dave has the length of rope he bought slung around one shoulder, and he looks both incredibly nervous and eager, judging by the notch between his eyebrows and the way he can’t keep still. 

It’s weird, standing on the beach when you hadn’t set foot on sand in almost a year. The leg, somehow, doesn’t sink into the grainy surface too much, and you’re once more impressed by Dirk’s mechanical expertise. On both sides of you, the beach seems to stretch on for miles. The ocean, flat against your current eye level horizon, is green and sparkling against the almost-midday sun. 

The ocean smells even stronger, down here. The brine, and the sulfurous cut of kelp gas pervade your senses. It’s cooler, this close to the water, but the sand is still hot from the sun. It’s not a perfect beach, like the ones near the desert that you’re more used to standing on. Not like the ones near your place of birth, where it was hot most of the year. No, the sand here is thicker in grain, more like fine gravel, in places, and jutted with large black rocks protruding from the surface. It’s still lighter sand, but not almost close to white, like the first beach you ever saw. 

“… old cave has some very pretty glowing fungus at the end, and a deep crystal pond,” Dave is saying, and you turn to face him. He’s already looking into the cave, obviously more excited than he wants to betray, to enter the rather derelict-looking tunnel. A beam is near collapsing on the exit of it, like an abandoned mine. “Aradia and I used to come here to practice our mental exercises when I was very little,” he continues.

The mental image is terrific. A small, wary Dave with a much smaller ruby serpent rippling next to his side, and probably encouraging him to enter the cave. 

There’s a glow that seems to come from inside, like the cave holds answers to the world. It makes sense that Dave would be interested in it. A sign written in Common sits like a sentinel just in front of you and reads **‘Do Not Enter, DANGEROUS, Under Scrutiny of the Sorceresses Lalaonde.’** It’s very encouraging.

“The sign, Strider?” You ask him, letting him catch a whiff of a smirk on your face before you extinguish it .

He outright laughs at that. “Oh yeah, Rose put that up to warn off the villagers. It’s totally safe, though, we got it warded and shit to not collapse. Three hundred little sigils, but we got it done,” he assures you, pointing out several of them on the crossbeams, and the largest one on the floor of the cave entrance, carved into stone.

“Why?” 

Dave starts walking toward the Cave, and looks back at you. “Less magic contamination, the better. Since this place was where Aradia and I found our True Bond.” 

The words ring with a second meaning in your head, and you pause even as Dave turns again and walks into the darkness. A what? You’ve never heard this term before, and you try to remember why it still feels familiar despite having no prior knowledge of it. It’s the same feeling you get when you know you’re forgetting to do something marginally important, and it burrows a little hole into your skull. 

As if sensing your confusion, Aradia drags the end of her ruffled tail against your back, and urges you forward while her words fill your head. _The True Bond is when the Bond becomes as one thing, and solidifies all the creeks of connection into a great river._ For once, her words do not carry laughter on them, and instead hold a kind of awe toward Dave, and a stern self-directed sobriety.

It feels familiar to you because this is the closest thing to touching each other’s souls that we can do. The familiarity carries on the words, as it does in the closeness of our energies. She provides this information as you start walking. The touch of her tail happens again, right on your back, and your heart leaps in your chest. Why is it so much worse today than it usually is?

Aradia stays next to your side as you catch up to Dave, who is waiting at the first turn. The side of his face is glowing a little, but it’s not a halo from the sunlight. It makes you even curiouser as to what lies deeper in the cave. Slowly, warily, grateful that the path is smooth, you move forward, leaning on your cane. 

There’s not much of interest in the tunnel you walk through, staying pace with Dave much more easily now that you have the leg. It gives you too much time to think, not having anything to keep your active interest. Of course your mind just goes straight to thinking about the leg in question. You still don’t feel much about it. That emptiness from the workshop is still there, in the back of your mind, waiting to come out and ask you how you feel, but not giving even a shadow of an answer. 

“Hey, watch out for stalactites,” Dave reminds you, and you look up. Surely enough, there is a field of the formations coming as you walk further down the tunnel. They seem to be… glowing? It strikes you that Dave isn’t holding any light or a torch, and you have to stop again to look around in something like amazement. As the tunnel widens into a vast cavern, so does the visual stimulation.

Every surface of the cave is littered with bioluminescent mushrooms, light and blue and connected by streaks of root passing between. The stalactites themselves are free of the mushrooms, though not as much can be said about the connecting roots. And… small, moving, glowing worms. Before you can get too close to examine them, Dave pulls you back by the collar of their shirt. 

“They’ll spray you with some bad-smelling shit if you get too close,” he explains, even as you cough and glare. 

The tunnel is so brightly lit that you have no trouble at all mistaking it for something close to lamplight, if it weren’t for the color. Soon enough, the three of you arrive at a large open space. It’s beautiful. The same fungus as the rest of the cave is concentrated in this place, some of the mushrooms as big as your head and some coming to your waist in height. Its tendrils travel down into the water of a modest pond, which appears littered with crystal growths and the bioluminescent threads that grow steadily in size as they near the small island in the center. 

From this island sprouts the most magnificent growth of its kind you’ve ever seen. The mushroom is large and soft-looking like the drape of a lady’s fine hat, surrounded by several pillars and outgrowths of crystal, its roots sprawling all across the small island and draping into the water. 

“Light be damned,” you whisper, and Dave laughs again softly. There’s a humming noise coming from beneath the bell of the great fungus, and Dave reaches down, picks up a small piece of rock, and tosses it into the water. The humming increases as the splash loudly sounds, and you feel a foreboding urgency to exit as soon as possible. 

“Relax, it’s okay,” he says, which quells absolutely none of your worries. 

“How am I supposed to RELAX when –“ you slap a hand over your mouth, not realizing your volume until too late. Dave has the gall to look unperturbed in every possible sense of the word, and gestures for you to look back at the pond. The humming has reached an apex, swelling until the sound of it has nowhere left to go. 

And then, abruptly, it stops. 

And what looks like a thousand large, bright bugs begin to seep from under the mushroom’s cap. Slowly at first, leisurely, and then with a little more speed, bugs fly from the thing. When you send Dave a panicked look, he only grins at you, and holds out a hand. One of the insects lands on it, blinking thrice before rattling its wings and making a high-pitched noise. 

“They can smell magic,” Dave says, like it explains everything. Like it explains what they are, why they don’t like their water getting disturbed, and why the fuck over a hundred of them have decided to flit closely about you, some landing on your head and shoulders. It strikes you that this is probably what the worms on the stalactites turn into. 

Aradia barks out a series of bell-like tones, and suddenly the air is full of them as the bugs detach from the walls and the other mushrooms, all coming out to greet you at once. The air is full of lights, and your nervousness is forgotten. How did Strider focus at all, in here?

Eventually, when no other large noises or motions are made, the bugs go back to their hiding places. The sound of tiny wings softly beating the air and buzzing around your head is gone, and the absence of that sound makes your ears ring. 

When Dave pats your shoulder, you look over at him and see him gesture toward the cave entrance. Aradia is already slithering back out, and you follow. 

“That was truly beautiful, Strider. I’m impressed,” you tell him, and he rubs the back of his neck.

“To be honest,” he says, “The first time I experienced that, I hunkered down and covered my eyes even though Aradia was telling me it was alright.”

 _I was much wiser than you at the time,_ she gives as input, into both of your heads. 

“Well I’d like to see you beat me in a fight now!” Dave claims, loudly. You’re out of the stalactites now, and you can see daylight ahead. 

_Let’s see you try,_ she’s saying, then, and Dave rushes forward to grab her around the middle of her neck. He laughs, making a show of using all his strength to drag her down, and she pretends to struggle. You stop to watch the exchange a good fifteen feet behind them, and are exceedingly amused when Aradia takes a moment to stand on her back two legs, straightening as high as she can. Dave struggles to hold on, laughing. 

“I’ve got her this time, Vantas!” He’s saying, before she rolls down and crushes Dave gently into the incline’s floor. “Okay, maybe I don’t!”

Aradia laughs out loud, a chuffing sound that echoes in the cavern. 

And then there’s a creaking noise, and a crack, like splitting earth. Dave and Aradia freeze. You take a step forward, and suddenly the world is shifting and the ceiling is falling. Panic fills your throat as the whole tunnel seems to shake violently before rocks crash down in front of you. There’s a blur of red, and you’re being knocked back into the tunnel by a hard dragon body. You can hear Dave yelling as you watch him run toward the entrance, being on the favorable side of the cave-in and managing to get out.

The daylight is extinguished before your eyes as one last piece of earth falls into place.

 

* * *

 

When you wake up, the first thing you notice is that you’re surrounded by warmth. Aradia is curled around your sleeping form, long body twisted into a circle and head laying in your lap. It’s dark, though very slightly blue. 

The cave wall drips condensation on your head, and you groan softly.

It takes a few minutes to remember where you are. 

_There was a cave-in. Dave has gone to get his sisters and brother for help._ She says to you, and her tail is flicking back and forth, impatient. Her impatience doesn’t make your unease any better. It’s a good thing that you’re not claustrophobic, you think, as you look at the massive pile of rocks in front of you. There are some roots sticking out of the side, and you can see a pillar or two jutting impudently from the mound. The warding runes on them have been scratched through purposefully. 

It couldn’t have happened in the collapse.

This… this is because of you.

Someone wanted to kill… you. And you almost got Dave and Aradia killed in the process. 

Your chest seizes, and you struggle to get out of Aradia’s grip to stand. It’s almost a relief to no longer be touching her, and you stagger against the cave wall. You see your cane there, and use it to hold yourself up. There was only one long, shallow scratch in damage to your right shoulder, which is a relief, but your back feels like one long bruise. 

But your pain is proximal to your real problem. 

It was that man, wasn’t it? He’d said his son died in the war, and you thought nothing of it. You’ve gotten too relaxed, and that man was probably in town with the express purpose of killing you. Pacing, you delve into your own panicked thoughts. So it wasn’t the leg that made him ask where the chapel was. He’s probably seen a picture of you somewhere, in a newspaper, or in a Seer’s Glass, and picked you to ask on that basis alone. The chapel isn’t that hard to find, after all. 

And the rings on his hand. They seemed familiar, with how bunched up and clustered they were. How they littered every one of his digits. How they shone in the glint of the light. You add bright red blood to the picture, and the only thing you can think of is Ampora. The officer that Sollux hated, but you needed for his archery. He had some small amount of magic, which he used to always strike true on his arrows, and he… he marched onto that field beside you. His horse was white, and then it was in pieces. 

His drawing hand had flexed on his bow, you remember, itching to shoot a troll or another in the eye, like he was good at. Ampora was from nobility, and it showed every time he strung an arrow, and one of his many rings would flash in the light before sparking, and catching the arrowhead aflame. What was his first name? Eridan?

Your cane catches on a large rock you didn’t see, and you trip a little. It’s hard to calm your breath down. It’s all your fault, all of it. As soon as you near one of the walls of the cave, you topple to sitting. The brace is pulling at you, ripping you apart. The straps eat at your skin and the metal burns your sinner’s hands as if iron striking a demon.

_Calm down, Karkat Vantas._

All your fault, all yours. Your fingers scrape and scrabble at the leather, and despite the violent shaking in your body, you manage to unlatch one strap and get the thing a little looser and hanging by the two straps left on you. They’re harder to reach, though, you’ll need to remove your pants to reach them, and then it will be over. Finally, you can get it off. You can tell mother it was destroyed in the rockfall, she will understand.

_Karkat Vantas._

All your fault. It rings with deadly truth in your head, and won’t stop. The voice won’t stop, won’t stop saying your name, your cursed name doomed to tragedy and failure. You yank your knife from its sheath on your belt, and set to slicing open your trousers. Finally, when the fabric is gone from the skin, you hurry to remove the other buckle. 

_Karkat Vantas!_

There’s blood on your fingers, from where you cut your leg in the haste to remove the trousers. It’s alright, though, you can’t feel the pain and it’s not that much blood, it will clot soon. The second buckle is undone, and the prosthetic is clattering on the ground where it hangs, loosened but not gone yet. Wrong, wrong, the leg is wrong on you. You need to take it off because it’s wrong. All your fault, blood on your hands.

 _KARKAT VANTAS!_ The voice cries again, much louder this time. In your head it rings like a gong. It is accompanied by a bit of panic from whoever said it, and a warm roar and breath on your face. 

All the blood feels as if it’s drained from your body. You look up, and Aradia’s face in the darkness is still bright. The leg is no longer a concern, nothing is. But the long teeth of the dragon in front of you flash a little as she whimpers her concern. The face turns pink and cream, for a lightning flash of a second you see ___. Her terror, her sorrow, you cry out. Scream at her as the battlefield blooms around her face. 

Pressure in your hand from yanking on your sickle, that flash of blue blood on the ground, the warm spray from the dragon’s chest. She’s bleeding, not dying. Her eyes glow as she advances on you in the cave – no, battlefield – no, cave – no – it can’t, you can’t. You try to wipe the shower of blood from your face, the dragon’s insides too hot, but there’s no blood there on your hand but your own.

Pulling yourself backwards across the floor doesn’t do much. You crawl as far as you can, though, leg clattering after you like a vestigial organ, weighing you down and giving you no progress. Aradia whimpers again, and you’re pulled back to her. 

_Why do you panic? I’m sorry._ She says, and you’ve never heard her apologize before. 

It’s hard to breathe, and tiny black spots start crowding the corners of your vision. Your hand scrapes a sharp rock, and you can feel it warm, on its way to bleeding as well. 

“You don’t understand, just get away! Please let me go, let me die. Please give me peace,” you plead with her, as her face switches back to ___.

_I cannot kill you. Dave would be sad. Tell me what is wrong so I may fix it._

“It’s my fault, don’t you see?! All of it, it’s my fault, I don’t deserve to walk, I don’t deserve to live!”

_That seems a little silly. I’ve met much more useless and guilty people than you._

You explode, screaming at her. 

“I killed thousands and thousands of men!” She looks unperturbed. “I killed so many of YOUR KIND and I am at fault.” ___ was the first, of many. This detail was something no one can know. No one but Sollux, and your troops. It makes you even more of a monster. 

The mention of your dragonslaying brings her communication with you to a halt, and she looks away from your eyes for a full minute before they snap back up, full of impossibly ageless wisdom. _I have known of this._

“That doesn’t make it okay!” You shout, hoarse now. The quiet of the cave surrounds you, and you cough. Breathing is still impossible, but she’s no longer advancing, and that gives you more relief than it should, as her face flashes pink, red, cream, red, pink, blue, red. 

_If I tell you that you are forgiven, will that make it alright?_

Everything halts. Your movements, her constant undulating, your thoughts, your heart, probably; they all halt. She has stopped seeming to shift form before your eyes, and sits, simply, as herself. The whiskers on her face twitch, in the air, and her mouth glows impatiently.

_Because you are, Karkat Vantas. You are forgiven. I have seen good in you, and I do not believe you murdered in cold blood._

“But I…” you stammer, choking. There are tears on your face, and you feel cold. “I killed her, I caused the death of so many valuable lives. So many young lives.”

 _I forgive you, on behalf of my kind, Karkat Vantas, Knight of Much Blood and friend of Dave Strider, son of the Fish Smith._

She says it so simply. The words bite like icy wind as they hit your face. Every single one. 

“I cannot possibly deserve – ” she cuts you off. 

_You are deserving in my eye,_ she forces past you. _Regardless of your own opinion._

A steady stream of emotion is gradually pumped into her weak connection with you. It’s very consciously done, her tailoring the feeling to suit your need, and show only the honest parts. She can’t hate you for this, it shows. You did what you could, it murmurs to you. Like your mother murmured into your hair the first time you sat up long enough for her to cut it after you got home. 

Just… like that. It all quiets. Aradia walks forward, and uses one of her short forelegs to pull your metal leg to a more comfortable position. You hadn’t realized just how much its current angle was biting into your skin until it was moved, and a small part of your full-body tension is relieved. Aradia backs off, and then gently and slowly lowers herself to lay just her massive head on your right leg. It's a fall, from standing, lumbering down to her elbows, then to the ground. An innocent echo of the way dragons fall when they die.

This time, though, it doesn’t make you want to run. For some reason, her words have settled something deep within you. The tears on your face have long dried, and your breathing is steadying. Your dry throat scratches when you inhale, and it makes you cough like you’ve swallowed bark. It’s odd to hold up your hands in front of your face and see them shaking in front of your eyes. 

It’s so quiet. It’s so simple, so astoundingly simple. It should be simple. Horrifyingly simple.

Aradia moves her snout closer to your stomach, slowly as if to not startle you, and inhales deeply. 

_Your wounds are not serious enough to need magic, but it would not hurt for you to bandage them._

Oh, yes. The left palm is steadily bleeding. 

_It will hurt a lot, but I can clean it with my tongue. The fire in me keeps my saliva from disease._ Her words are cautious, and she sends you an image through the connection, a notion that maybe you should hold the palm out to her. _I have done this for Dave before._

It doesn’t seem like the best idea, but for some reason, you trust her on this. After scraping off a few pieces of embedded stone, you display the cut for her. She sniffs it briefly, and then, after a glance at you, gives it a firm lick. Her tongue manages to grab all of the excess dirt, somehow, and the rest drips out with the saliva. It’s subtle, but you can’t miss how her mostly closed mouth briefly fills with golden flames, and her eyes glow the barest amount behind the deep black. Was it… your blood, from the wound. Was it a good idea to give her your blood? 

And then the pain starts. A prickling burning starts up in the cut, miles worse than the sharp pain of the stone cutting it open before. You clutch your wrist, and it feels almost incendiary, like you’re trying to hold a wildfire in your palm. It makes tears prickle in your eyes, and then a more constant ache sets in over the burn. 

_Quickly, wrap it,_ Aradia tells you, with mild urgency. _Before it bleeds again._

Your knife is bloody, but within reach without dislodging Aradia from her place on your thigh. Quickly you use it to cut off a length from your shirt. It’s good that you decided to wear the older white linen shirt you had today. Wartime instincts steady your clumsy hands as you wrap the makeshift bandage tight around the cut. It doesn’t bleed through at all, which is a relief. It wasn’t too incredibly deep, then. 

Aradia chuffs excitedly when you’re done. _I can clean the other one, too, if you like!_ Her voice sounds anticipatory, and when you look at her eyes, they’re full of both mirth (your pain, you guess) and a tiny amount of smoldering ember that wants more of your blood, deep down. 

“I would honestly rather not go through that pain again today, thank you,” You grumble, and give her what you hope is a disappointed scowl, before stubbornly taking out the water-skin, and gesturing with it. Sighing, she flattens in despondent irritation and moves away from your left leg, where the other cut is.

This one is clearly cleaner, as it was cut by your knife, and not covered in dirt. After some thought, you sort around in your knapsack and somehow, miraculously, you come up with a small tub of anti-infection salve. Thank the light that you tend to be prepared, all the way from your training. 

Aradia snuffles at it, and briefly growls. _Smells terrible,_ she says.

“Good,” you tell her, “That means it’s good for me.”

She doesn’t argue with you, and you drizzle some of the water over the cut on your leg. 

_You can use all of the water, if you like,_ she tells you. _The pond is drinkable. The minerals that made the crystals have long since been cleansed from the water by the fungus._

Ah, well, that’s good. It hurts and your hands are shaking again, but you pour the remainder of your water-skin over the cut, hissing as it goes. Soon, enough blood is cleaned away, and the half-solidified blood is pushed off, and you can rub the salve into it. That hurts much worse than the water, but soon, it carries a numbing effect that seeps into the skin. You cannot wrap that one, but the salve will keep too much blood from escaping. It was a fairly shallow cut, anyway. 

And then, the only thing is silence. You still feel unsettled, but with Aradia breathing into your abdomen, it’s harder to notice. Her breath is warm, and smells like herbs and wet copper and something musky, somehow. Something in you expected her breath to taste of smoke. 

Going by the logic of gaining wounds and losing blood, you should get very tired at this point. The opposite occurs, however, and you feel very alert. Every sound, every drip in the cave and shift of Aradia’s claws on the stone have you twitching. Eventually, she must get tired of the silence, because she stands, ignoring your full-body flinch, and picks up your still-open water-skin in just a few of her front teeth. 

_I will fill this. I do not know how long it will be,_ she tells you, and wanders slowly in the direction of the water pool. You can hear her all the way down. When she reaches the pool, it’s obvious, due to the steadily rising humming noise that permeates the cavern and the tunnel. 

It’s all you can do to not desperately focus on the sound of your own breath in the semi-darkness. You can’t see her, what if she somehow disappears into the pool for good? Completely illogical, you know, but when she comes back into view, still carrying an effervescent beetle or two on her back, you sigh heavily and gratefully take the water. It’s the cleanest water you’ve ever tasted. 

And Aradia resumes the same position, laying her head across your lap. When you realize that she’s doing it as much for her comfort as for yours, you cautiously lay a hand across her nose. Aradia snuffles again, and purrs out a happy noise before all of her, aside from her head, curls into a spiral to your right. 

Now your body decides to get tired. It’s so tired, and everything on you aches. You let your eyes close to the slight blue glow on your companion’s scales. 

 

* * *

 

When you wake, you’re leaned against her, and you’re warm. A light is shining into your eyes, bright daylight, and you can hear voices. Eyes snapping open, you jolt up. The light is warm, evening light, and you can hear Dave’s voice in particular. 

“Karkat! I know you’re in there, we’re gonna be getting you out!”

“Move out of the way, David, we need to set this,” comes a voice you recognize as Rose. 

“What is this? Were these scratched away?” That’s Dirk.

It’s quiet outside the hole for a tense several minutes. 

“Come on, let’s get them out,” Dave says, finally. 

_See? I told you we would be fine,_ Aradia whispers to you. _Though your funerary shawl would make an excellent addendum to my collection._

Shaking away that thought, you call out. “Can we do anything from this side?”

It’s quiet for a moment again, and Dirk yells, “No, just stay where you are. Get Aradia to curl up if you can.”

She roars unhappily in response, and you feel an exchange is probably taking place about her being able to talk to them herself. Dave is laughing a bit, and you hear Rose chuckle as well, as Dirk complains under his breath. 

It’s a few minutes, but after some chatter outside the hole, there’s a great groaning noise, like the earth itself is splitting. All of the rock in the tunnel shifts up, replanting in the ceiling, piece by piece. It’s beautiful and careful, and then you can see the three siblings. Dave holds out his hands, motioning for you to stay in place, and then the last rock and pillar are wedged back into place. Rose and Dirk are holding their hands to a giant ring that’s carved into the ground. Dave rushes forward, slapping pieces of painted cloth onto the scratched-out symbols on the pillars. The cloths seems to sink into the wood, burning its design back into itself, and solidifying with a kind of strange crunching noise. 

When he’s done placing the symbols, Dave halts in the center of the tunnel. Rose and Dirk take their hands off the ring on the ground, dusting off their palms as they stand. All of it holds, and you’re left in a bit of subdued awe as Dave almost sprints to you and Aradia. Aradia gets to him first, almost knocking him over with the force with which they embrace. Something glows in both of their eyes, and they separate. It must hurt the bond to be that far apart for too long. The village is miles and miles away, you think. 

Dave then comes to you, as Aradia leaps out into the fading sunlight. He walks up to you slowly, and you almost try to push yourself up before remembering that you hadn’t re-strapped the brace yet. Your hands begin shaking again as you hurry to redo the buckles. Dave crouches down, sees the bandage on your hand, and the cut on your leg. 

Concern fills his eyes. “You were hurt in the cave-in,” he says, brows drawing forward and mouth drawing a downward slope. “I guess you undid the brace and your pants to get at the cut?” He wonders aloud. 

“No,” you tell him. You’re going to elaborate, but you don’t. Aradia will probably tell him, anyway. “I had a moment of weakness. She can tell you about it.”

Dave looks even more concerned, if possible, and reaches out to do up the other buckle, as you’re still struggling with the one you can’t quite get ahold of. “I would rather not hear it from her,” he says, simply, and you can’t. You can’t. He’s seen you do enough embarrassing things. 

“Please don’t make me,” you ask him, command him, snap at him, and he huffs, but doesn’t pry. 

“If that’s what you want, Vantas,” he says. He’s not happy about it, but he’s relenting like he always does, despite his concern, and that feels amazing. 

“Thank you,” you say, and finally manage to get the buckle completely done up and back through its securing loop. Dave reaches out to put a hand on your shoulder. You glance back up at his face. 

“Never mind all that,” he says, and gives you a familiar little grin. 

When he’s hoisted you up and carried you out of the cave, you relish in the feeling of sunlight on your skin. Rose is already mounting Damara, who has been sitting off to the side, and gripping Dirk’s waist. They both wave, and Dirk says something about staying out of dark caves, but we’ll see you later, and then they’re flying off like a great gold ribbon in the sky. 

Dave chuckles. “Like it’s just a daily thing, un-collapsing a cave-in.”

You can’t help but share the sentiment. You feel like you’ve been close to death all day, even if it couldn’t have been more than a few hours that you were trapped in there. Aradia is flopped out on the warm sand, and Dave stops for a minute to let you stand on your own. It’s harder to lean on your cane with your injured hand, so you make sure to balance well enough that you won’t fall. 

You notice that Dave is still wearing the rope across his chest, and you give it a quizzical look. “What was your intention with bringing that rope?” You ask him. “We didn’t use it for anything.”

Dave looks embarrassed for a moment. “Oh, it was just to make you anticipate today more. If you’d thought we were going on some kind of dangerous trip, I guess I thought you might get more excited? It was stupid,” he admits. The admittance doesn’t make you amused like it normally would. Today turned out to be very dangerous, and just seemed to serve as a reminder that not just you, but your friends and family, were in danger because of what you’ve done in the past. 

Remembering that has less of a sting, now, though, and you manage to not feel as horrible as you usually do. Aradia’s voice, forgiving you, blooms in the forefront of your mind, and you feel less and less of the blame sitting on your shoulders. 

“Can you take me home? I’d like to get these cuts cleaned better,” you request. Dave doesn’t say anything about the clear omission of wanting to rest, as well, after the happenings of the day. 

“Yeah,” he says, and clicks his tongue. Aradia dutifully rolls back over, and comes to the two of you, since you’re the one having any real difficulty moving around. He helps you into the saddle in silence, careful of your injuries, and then hops up behind you. 

 

* * *

 

The house looks incredibly welcoming when you arrive there some fifteen minutes later, and slide off the saddle after Dave. He helps you down. His hands support you as you get your footing once off Aradia’s back, and serve as a reminder of his calming presence in your life as it is. 

Dave lets go of your waist, and you think you feel him move away, so you turn to face him. He’s still there, though, you find, and you’ve vastly underestimated the space between you. Instinctively, you reel and end up tripping on Aradia’s tail. Of course Dave manages to catch you, and steady you with one hand on the middle of your back. 

“Thank you,” you tell him, and he doesn’t say a thing. He’s still close, almost too close. It’s comfortable in the space, and warm, with his cheek so near your own and his breath crossing the skin of the side of your neck. As you straighten, you get the eerie sense that his hand feels like it belongs there, just over your spine. Obviously you’re hallucinating again, and shake yourself a little to rid yourself of the feeling. 

“I…” He says, and you wait patiently for at least ten seconds, but it doesn’t seem like he’s going to continue. 

“Yes? What unholy fount of information are you going to poison me with this time?”

He laughs nervously. “Well, the thing is…” He licks his lips.

“Please, do go on.”

The next thing he said tumbles so fast from between his teeth that you hope you misheard him. When you say nothing in response, and only frown at him, he steps away from you. 

“I knew you were gonna be mad at me. Look, I’ll write a lot, though, and tell you about where I’m going. I think Terezi and Vriska are coming to travel with us to the Pass of Ice and Daggers, so you could meet some other riders, too, if you want. Probably. Though they might be meeting up with us at Midborough. Terezi is blind, y’know? It’s amazing how she works with Latula –” 

You interrupt Dave. “You’re leaving?! Just when were you going to tell me?” It feels horrible to think about. Dave is saying something about him and Dirk being expected back on the racing circuit just after the harvest festival. You know it’s his livelihood, and it’s what he does to make himself happy and keep his title, and get prize money for the village. It’s like you, if you went out on regular tours when you were with the queen’s forces. 

“I meant to tell you a couple of weeks ago, when we got the letter. We were going to take a long rest for a year before getting back into it, but the prize money is huge this season. Even for lower placed contestants. And the village could always use some extra money in storage for building projects.”

You’re not sure why you feel so cold. Dave’s face comes into your field of vision, and he looks concerned again. It’s definitely not forever, but he’s your closest friend and companion. And he’s leaving you, for months. 

“We’re entering a shorter season, this year, so we should be back after midwinter. There won’t be a race in this village this time around,” he’s still explaining.

“You’re leaving after the harvest festival,” you state, echoing his statement from earlier. “That’s only a month from now.” 

Dave is clearly scrambling. “Yes, but I’ll write as often as I can. And I’ll be back in a month for John’s wedding.”

You cross your arms and look at the ground. At this, Dave seems to fully give up, sighing. 

“Even if you’re mad at me, at least allow me to get you something for protection. We can get Rose to make you a charm. Today was very clearly orchestrated.”

You welcome the change of topic, sighing and dragging a palm over your face. You'll get nowhere by continuing to be angry at him.

“I think it was that man in the square,” you tell him, and he frowns at you. 

“If you thought he was suspicious, why didn’t you say something?!” He snaps. Your frown matches his, and then gives it some more on top. 

“I didn’t think him suspicious at the time, Dave,” you snap right back. Uncrossing your arms, you stand a full three feet back from him, as tall over his height as you can stand, and square your shoulders. “I let my guard down, and we almost got killed. How do you think I feel?!” 

His face crosses the border from anger into guilt, and his face wilts a little. 

“I’m sorry, man,” he tells you honestly. “We should get you monitored. I don’t want you to get… hurt again.”

It’s your turn to wilt. The void at the end of his words is full of a kind of heat you’re not really prepared to identify yet. Desperately, you fill the silence. 

“Monitored?” You ask, only slightly genuine in your curiousity. 

“Yeah, you’ll see. I’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon and we’ll go see Rose. Get you checked out.”

“Why do I need to meet with your twin?” You have to ask. 

“She’s the Seer,” he replies, as if that explains everything. While it explains some things, it’s a far cry from all of the answers you want. The emotion in his eyes flickers like a flame between sadness, regret, and guilt. Excruciating in their truth, now that you have his confidence, and you don’t even know what he’s feeling guilty for. Letting you get hurt? Leaving? Not telling you he was leaving? Waiting as long as he did to tell you? 

When you don’t go inside, or do anything but lean on your cane and frown, Dave turns from you. He waves at you over his shoulder as he flies off on Aradia’s back, until he’s just a speck on the night air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow that was longer than I thought it was! a doozy!
> 
> things will be picking up a little soon! next chapter we get to see the inside of the lalonde estate! also after next chapter the time will jumps a few times in successive chapters, just due to the nature of exploring things differently :)
> 
> Hey everyone, hope you're getting plenty of fluids and staying out of the rising heat!


	15. EPISODE 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our Brave Hero goes to the Lalonde mansion to get a ward, and he and his Rider Friend have a talk. Not a very good one, but a Talk.

The tension between you hasn’t dissipated with the short time apart. Granted, it was only overnight, but it still stands that the tension in the air is a little stifling. Somehow you both manage to ignore it in favor of acting normally. Mostly normally. You’re still exhausted from the day before, and it’s making you a little jumpy. Your back still hurts, but after the salve you put on them, and your mother helping bandage you the night before, your injuries are mostly healed.

“C’mon, grumpy, let’s get you warded. It was crazy enough letting you stay unprotected last night,” Dave is saying while he helps you put on what has come to be known as your helmet. His hands frame your temples just so, and you bat them away to try and attach the thing on your own. It’s simpler than you thought, and takes a short amount of time. It hadn’t been an option too often in the past, as you’d needed at least one arm to remain standing.

You have to go back indoors to grab your cane, waving to your mother as you do so, and when you get back outside, Dave is holding two small squares of cloth in his hands. He holds both out to you, obviously wanting you to take them.

“What the fuck are these?” You ask him, confused. 

“It’ll let you get past the barriers. Don’t worry about it. Had Rose write me a couple of fresh ones this morning, so these will be just dandy.”

“And just what am I supposed to do with them, Strider?” You ask, terse. He flinches just a little, and you realize you’d forgotten that the two of you were meant to be pretending that you weren’t mad at him. 

Dave snorts, though. “I don’t know. Blow your nose with it?” He’s being facetious, obviously, but it still rubs your hair in the wrong direction. 

“Very funny, buttlick,” You say, and look at the squares. They’re… embossed? With a small, simple sigil not completely unlike the ones on the cave supports. 

“Put them in your pockets or shoe… or something,” Dave finally says, watching you. He turns when you let him have your full attention, to tighten one of Aradia’s straps. She huffs at him, and scratches her side with one of her back feet. “Just have it on a part of you that’s made of flesh. Mom’ll adjust the barriers once she has something from your body to feed to the guard fire.”

You’re not going to mention his implication that the new leg is already a part of you. Yesterday had done something to alleviate a portion of your constant guilt about the leg, which you will never admit, but… this piece of metal… is it really going to feel like part of your body someday? The limb is gone, scars left behind, and sometimes that doesn’t even feel real. 

Wait, he said something else important. 

“Guard fire?!” You ask him, urgently. “Something from my _body_?!”

Dave gives you a sigh, disdain written on his features as he moves over, gesturing for you to mount Aradia. Why can’t you walk? You’re nowhere near as wary of her as before, but the house is only down the road. Dave must want to get you… protected? As quickly as possible. 

“Pipe down, Vantas, I mean some hair, or a fingernail, or something.”

You try to feel less unsettled about it, but some things about magic will most likely always give you unease. The idea of giving the Lalondes a bit of any part of you makes you nervous, especially to use in a spell. Dave may be comfortable with the idea, being related to them, but you don’t know them that well, and have seen one too many men become cursed in the line of duty. It almost happened to you several times, as well, and if it hadn’t been for Captor’s glasses, you don’t know what would have happened.

“Now come on, we need to go,” Dave is saying. 

After giving him one last doubtful glare, you climb up onto Aradia’s saddle. “Don’t rush me,” you add, scolding. It gets an unintended chuckle out of Dave. 

“Alright, old man,” he mutters. 

“I’m not that much older than you, Strider.”

“If you insist, elder Vantas.”

 

* * *

 

Dave flies you to the Lalonde house, up a long and twisting road from your mother’s. 

The home is situated in a field of lush grass, perched almost on the edge of the cliff, as if a giant hawk had planted it there as its nest. It stands tall and massive, several trees on one side covered in waxy green leaves, and one blooming large white flowers. There is no wall or gate around the estate, no iron bars to cross or moats to protect the outskirts.

There is, however, a widely spaced line of short posts driven neatly and evenly into the ground, encircling the building itself. When you pass over it, Aradia ripples, as if shivering, but barks out a short note once she’s past it entirely. You’re unaffected, though the piece of cloth you’ve slid into your sock does tingle a little against your skin. 

Once you’re inside the ring of posts by several yards, the door of the house opens. Aradia stops smoothly just outside the door, and you and Dave dismount. She doesn’t follow you in, seemingly content to wander over to the tree with the large white flowers and recline there in the cool shade. 

Dave pays it no heed, and enters. 

Once in the foyer, the door closes on your heels, and it’s dark as night. Dave seems to know the way, and starts walking in a direction that means absolutely nothing to you. You follow, removing the helmet from your head and propping it under one arm. The other hand holds your cane, and the clack of it against the marble floors is a comfort in the dimness of the house. 

It’s not as if the house doesn’t have windows, but you can see them covered. Possibly to keep out the heat, in such a large place. There seems to be at least on or two stuffed horses in here, you can make that much out in the shadows. There are also a few statues of… old men. With hats, and beards. You blink furiously, willing the images into further clarity, and eventually have to give up. Dave’s gotten a little ahead of you when you pay attention again. 

“Wait, Strider. Not everyone is as spry as you are,” you grumble. He stops briefly, doing just as you ask, and then paces you the rest of the way. Once or thrice his hand shoots out to indicate a direction change, seeing as you’re no longer following. After a few more darkened hallways, you eventually come upon a door. It would have been invisible to the naked eye, sitting as it is, sunk flat into the wall, were it not for the light expelling from the cracks around it. 

Dave knocks, and, without waiting for a response, pushes his way easily inside. 

Once in the room beyond, you have to blink spots from your eyes. 

It’s a room full of light. A sunroom, very obviously, and all but the wall behind you is made of glass. One corner of the room is filled with white orchids. There is a chandelier, quite a few mirrors, and what seems like thousands of trinkets formed from stained glass and crystal. A large golden and white chaise lounge reclines across a bright series of gold-colored tiles positioned in the center of the room, a semicircle of chairs forming an audience around it. 

The floor itself is white marble so polished, you can see your own reflection in it. 

A head of white hair peeks briefly from over the top of the chaise, bored expression fitted in place. It disappears, then soon comes back into view, followed shortly by the three-quarters profile view of two familiar lilac eyes that seem to spear through you like silver arrows. Rose. You just saw her yesterday, but it feels like it’s been since the festival that you’ve properly interacted. 

“Well. Hello, Brother,” she says, knowingly glancing between the two of you. Knowing what? It's frustrating, the knowledge in her gaze.

“Sorry to interrupt the beauty sleep, sis. Guess you already know why I’m here, though,” Dave says in return, shoving his thumbs through two of the unlooped sections of his belt. 

Rose stands, then, and you almost turn away in apology of her nudity and honor. It appears for a bare moment that she is only draped in a sheer white shawl. As she turns to come toward you, however, you see that underneath the shawl, she is wearing a very pale and loose saffrom dress. The same sun from her ceremonial gown is dyed intricately into the front of this one in a delicate goldenrod shade that hurts your eyes to try and properly eke out. 

“I do know some of it, yes, David,” she hums, looking at you down her nose as she nears. 

“Not my name, Rose. You’ve been around me since we were born, for light’s sake,” Dave says, but the irritated lean of his words doesn’t carry when you look at his face. He’s wearing a smirk like this kind of interaction used to be a grievance, but now only holds place as a running joke between the two of them. 

Before you know it, Rose is standing directly in front of you. Gold-slippered feet and arms covered in delicate bangles, and a few chains of what looks like polished charms, she asks you, “So, why do you need protecting, colonel?”

The old title, combined with the new place, combined with her smug mouth and the brightness of this room grating into your eyes, shreds a little bit of your self-control. Your argument with Dave resurfaces in your memory, as does what happened the previous afternoon. A sharp breath sucks into your mouth, barely passing your teeth, and you ready yourself to lash out.

Before you get the chance to rise to the bait, Dave speaks for you. “Someone collapsed my cave yesterday, which you already know, Rosie my dear sister.”

Rose looks a little perturbed at the mention of the cave, which surprises you. 

“Oh, yes. That did happen. Didn’t it.” Her tone is troubled, like she’s working a puzzle out in her head. 

“Yeah. No shit. You were there. Anyway, Karkat was trapped inside, and hurt, if you remember,” Dave rushes to finish, waving one of his hands about as he speaks.

This time Rose’s surprise is entirely more evident. Eyes widening, she shifts her weight. “Now that I do not remember Seeing before it happened.”

You bristle. "Yet you were there to get me out," you say. 

Rose's eyes are on you again, and a prickling goes across your forehead before you can unlock your stares from one another. "Yes, I was there, but I did not witness your injuries before or after the occurence," she seethes.

"Just why did you think I was in the cave or that I was totally fine, then?!" You seethe right back, and Rose's eyes go wide again. 

"If I'm honest with you, _colonel_ , I did not make the connection. I had a very long day yesterday, and I..." she trails off, one hand drawing up to her mouth in a troubled gesture. "...why didn't I see any of this... I was there..." she murmurs, as if only for herself to hear. 

Dave looks a little exasperated, like he wants to be done with her surprise. “So I want a charm for him, or something to keep him under watch. The good shit. Aradia has agreed to trade imbued fire or scales if need be.” Dave taps his foot, and looks a little away from Rose. Guilty? No… not quite. Desperate? Concerned? For you?

Rose looks pleased with this turn of events, in dramatic contrast to seconds before. 

Dave has been planning that much? Aradia agreed to trade what now? It was obviously something Rose wanted, and probably rare at that. It must be powerful magic.

“I’m glad you came prepared to make a deal, Dave.”

“Anything for you, sis,” he says right back, tone bittering with every word. Perhaps he was hoping she would do him a favor. But you know magic takes time and energy, and therefore will come at a price. There exists a small amount of tension between the two of them, like grit in the cogs of a wheel, and you put yourself into the middle of it to diffuse the situation a little. 

“You can See things, right? Like See them, in the future? That’s you that does that?” You’d almost forgotten that the Lalondes predicted most disasters and happenings in the town before today. You had no idea it was Rose, much less that she simply Saw them, as opposed to doing predictive rituals. No wonder her divinations ended up so close to the truth. 

Rose lets her eyes drag past Dave, and crosses her arms over her plump middle. “Yes,” She says, tilting her head a little and smiling at you. 

“Then why, for the love of land did you not warn us that I was going to almost get killed?” You question, intent. You're pressing your argument, not to be forgotten. It was just a question to fill the air, at first, but as the small silence after the words stretched, it became apparent to you that you actually wanted to know the answer. 

Rose appears disgruntled, and shifts her weight again. 

“I must use a ritual medium for a majority of my future readings. Sometimes they come of their own volition, but I did not notice any souls in the cave collapse when I was going over major events in my general divination for the week,” she informs you calmly.

And then she comes around to curious, and a little troubled once more. “In fact, I do remember going and looking into that one. I still didn’t find any people getting trapped or injured.”

This whole conversation is beginning to run you in circles, and you think she's just repeated herself again. A sharp intake of breath makes you look at Dave. He’s scowling, now, at the floor. “So, sis, that means…”

“Yes. There was something else done, that we didn’t see while repairing the tunnel, that altered my prediction for the week. Someone decided to block me sensing Karkat there, entirely.”

“Fuck,” Dave spits, and you hear his knuckles pop when he clenches his hand. 

“Well, dear brother, it seems like he needs a specific watch charm. And maybe some luck in there, as well. Someone’s out to get him,” She says. It strikes you that she’s been looking into your eyes for the past several minutes of conversation, and you look away from her piercing stare, feeling that prickle again on your forehead, like an itch you can't scratch. 

“Surprising no one,” You mutter, very tired of all the magic talk all of a sudden. 

Rose frowns at you yet again, then reaches out and snags a few pieces of hair. They disappear somewhere on her person while you’re yelping in shock, and she turns back toward the chaise, and the golden table on the far end of the room that's covered in papers, ink, and jars of what looks like ingredients. 

The yelp eases some of the tension in the atmosphere of the space, and Dave ends up forcing out a laugh. He reaches over, and pats you on the shoulder. “Come on man, let’s get you protected. Or at least watched. I won’t be around to save your ass all the time,” he tells you, all bravado. 

“That was all Aradia saving my ass,” you counter, “And thanks for the reminder.”

Now… now, Dave flinches. 

“Are we doing this right now?” He asks, a little meekly. 

Trying to find his gaze with your own, and eventually giving up when he won’t look at you, you let your eyebrows knit together. 

“When else are we going to talk about it, exactly?” You push your words at him, trying to keep your tone level. You do the aggressive thing and get in his space. Like you’re a commander again, drilling a troop for insubordination. It’s a feeling that makes you feel heavy, and raw with familiarity. Dave attempts to step back, but you try to stay close. He needs to look at you.

“I don’t know, okay, I’m not good at this. Hence why I did the asshole thing and didn’t tell you,” he finally answers. 

“Look, I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you. I can’t fix that. I can’t make you forgive me, either, but I’m leaving soon and I’d appreciate it if you did,” he says, still not looking directly at your face. 

The apology… helps. It’s hard to be mad at him when he very clearly realizes what he’s done wrong. 

It’s hard to be mad. And yet.

“I’m still angry, Dave, there’s no fixing that,” you tell him, in a low tone. Rose doesn’t need to hear this entire discussion firsthand. He flinches again, wilting. “Look at me, asshole.”

He looks at you, then, eyes full of regret. The proximity makes him look away again, but his eyes claw their way back to yours. A hand makes an aborted motion to raise up to your shoulder, but he very obviously stops himself. It’s then that you make a decision. Today, you’ll be kind. After all, it’s not every day that your closest friend is going to be away for months. The thought makes you more sad than angry.

“I can forgive you, though,” you tell him. You know you’re still scowling, and that must be why it takes him a second to react. His eyes are glued to your frowning mouth, and he seems to do an internal double-take before realization dawns on his face. 

“You’re forgiving me?” He breathes. 

“Yes. Not too much point in being angry when you won’t even be here to be angry at, is there?” You ask. The relief that fills his face makes your forgiving him entirely more worth it. 

Rose walks up, then, and hangs something around your neck. You hadn’t heard her coming, and it makes you stumble back from Dave in surprise. Your head wants to fill with memories of surprise attack, and for a brief moment you feel like you’re going to be sick. When she pats the small bag on your chest with one hand, however, you’re distracted by the strange sensation of being coated in some kind of invisible barrier. 

Dave shivers, next to you, and you wonder if he could feel the activation too. 

“Now. If you two boys are done arguing, I have a nap to get back to,” Rose says, and walks away from you. Dave shoots you a tentative grin, then, and you nod. His grin grows. 

“So this will protect me?” You ask, argument not yet forgotten but rather decidedly pushed into the realm of not-going-through-this-needless-agony. 

“From most harmful magic,” Dave confirms with a nod, “And it will keep you in Mom’s mind’s eye I think, so that she can see if disaster is about to befall you. It’s not perfect, but since we know that there are people who can do magic that want to hurt you, it’s way better than nothing.”

You pick the thing up off your chest, and lift it into view. It’s a nondescript brown leather bag, no bigger than your thumb. And this will protect you? You’ll take his word for it. 

Like he said, it’s better than nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YO! Three more chapters left in this until I go on hiatus! I have one or two more chapters written up already for when I get back, so you guys have to trust me, I will be back!!!! (I know, I'm overreacting, I just feel bad cause I got you guys used to a chapter or more a week and now I'm going haha)
> 
> Anyways, kudo comment and subscribe if you like what you see and I'll see you guys on thursday! (wtf im not a youtube letsplayer why am i doing this, oh what it's for comedic effect?? haha no seriously) 
> 
> I think you guys are rly gonna like thursday's. i kinda smashed two chapters together in that one cause they were short but seriously. it was a fun chap to write 
> 
> ,'8^)
> 
> LOVE Y'ALL


	16. EPISODE 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a talk with a concerned and lonely mother, some missing a friend, and a wedding.

_Vantas,_

_I said I would write to you. Look at that. I’m doing it. Told you so. Too bad I’m shit at using divination mirrors or I could piss you off with that, instead._

_Traveling with Dirk is so boring. Despite the village being even more boring scenery-wise, at least there’s a variety of people who know me there. We won all three preliminary races we’ve done so far. I know, why didn’t I write yet to tell you about my amazing acclaim and all of the crowds of hungry spectators wanting a shot at my heart. It’s the question everyone is chewing at back home, I bet._

_The first answer would be that I wandered off from camp, was attacked by a bear, and dropped all my writing stuff in the river. The truthful answer was that I was waiting until I had a cool story to tell. And look at that! Three races won! Very nice, right?_

_Anyway, we’ll be heading back up that way for our fourth preliminary, and then stopping in town for a couple of days for the wedding. John joined us at the last town, and decided to stick with us for the rest of our trip toward you guys again. He wants me to say hi, by the way._

_See you soon enough,  
Dave_

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Strider,_

_It might help you to use your ink for better things than bragging and your usual amount of horseshit. And writing one time isn’t real communication. Honestly. I can’t believe you waited three weeks to send your first letter._

_All the same, it’s good to see your letter. Kanaya and Porrim say hello, and so do the rest of the children, M included. He wanted me to include the drawing I sent with this, and also wanted me to tell you that your handwriting is atrocious._

_I’ll see you in some ten days from now,_

_Karkat Vantas, Colonel of H-_

 

There’s some text written and scribbled neatly out.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dave is gone already by a few weeks, and it’s a little lonely without him there. Not to mention how difficult it is, now that your attention’s not being occupied, to not sink into more miserable thoughts. 

The… remembering your confrontation with Aradia, in the cave, leaves you feeling shaken more often than not. But it also leaves you with a sense of relief, and calm, once the turmoil passes. She forgave you. Every spare moment you’ve had to think draws back to that notion. She forgave you, and it doesn’t feel complete. It might never feel complete. 

But the metal leg doesn’t feel like it’s burning you anymore. It’s starting to feel like more of an extension, and less of a convenient prop. 

Part of that is also probably due to the training you’ve picked up for yourself. You manage to fill a lot of your time with starting up your fighting forms and daily regimen of practice. It hurts to hold both sickles in your hands, so you don’t use them in the forms yet. It’s a purely mental pain, you know, but you can train without their weight. It doesn’t take weapons to make a capable fighter, after all. Dave can attest to that himself.

The harvest festival was beautiful. You sat with the Striders and Lalondes, your mother, and Jane, at a giant table in the feast. The Maryams brought all the children, but got some of the older kids to corral everyone, so they sat with you too. It was somewhat intimidating having your mother and Porrim talking about you, especially when Porrim started talking about how well you were getting to know the kids, and how useful you were around the place. Half proud, half wistful, your mother listened intently to the things you did while not at home. It was like being so young again, as if you were fifteen years and wielding a real sword for the first time without your father.

There was a ceremony, albeit smaller this time, though the festival only took the one day, and most of it was the feast. M sat on your lap for the ceremony, excitedly pointing to fireworks. His excitement helped distract you from the sound of the booms, helped you not focus as much on your need to escape the loud sounds. In your hometown, there were less celebrations, but you do remember a large harvest festival. Larger than the one for planting. Traditions are different everywhere, you suppose.

Filling time at the orphanage is easy, and you end up becoming closer friends with Kanaya Maryam. She takes you with her to run errands, and with your building full-body strength, you can help lift bags of flour and potatoes to put in the cart, among other things. With her, of course. Never let it be said that the Maryams aren’t strong, or they’ll immediately try to prove otherwise. Kanaya teaches you how to bake bread and make porridge, as well as the most efficient method of peeling and chopping vegetables. 

One of the fishermen in town finishes building his new boat, and ends up hiring a few of the older kids at the orphanage to help him out. As a result, you’re given a few of the tasks they normally did, like tacking the horse and cleaning her stall. The Mayor ends up following you out sometimes while you complete these tasks, and you’re able to teach him how to do some of them. He actually enjoys them, for the most part, but always disappears to be alone for a while after the long hours outside.

You still visit Jane’s, but then after that, you tend to go walk on the gravelly beach instead of staying and drinking wine until late. The sand grits pleasantly under your steps, and tiny crabs run away from your feet in the dark. The breeze cools your skin, and the awful traction of the beach helps you get even more accustomed to the leg. The cane is still used often, but some days, you’re able to go without using it entirely.

In the sun, your skin gets even darker than before, deepening to the same rich brown that your father’s was the last time you saw him. Awful tan lines crop up on your arms and legs, despite the same amount of time being spent with a shirt as without, regardless of the weather. It gets hot doing work, and you are no exception to that rule.

Your mother gets a rash of repairs for wagons, hinges, tools, and so on, with the end of the harvest and the start of preparation for actual winter. She remains busy, happily so. There are many farmers planting winter vegetables, and she gets your help in sharpening a dented plough and shoeing a few hooves. 

All of these things going on, and time is still moving at a snail’s pace. The cats that live around your mother’s land have started sleeping in the wood shed at night, and the winter’s bite can be smelled on the air, and time is still moving so slowly. Dave not being there makes everything pass both in a blur and not at all. It’s lonely not having a companion to drink wine with at night, and despite Kanaya’s offers to share some of her stores with you, you do not accept. It’s a ritual reserved either for just yourself or one other.

One particular other. 

 

* * *

 

One night, in the seventh week after the Striders have left, you’re sitting at Jane’s and wondering on why they have a different name from the Lalondes. Strider seems like a name that was not given, for some reason. Did they choose it?

“Strider…” you murmur to yourself.

“I think they adopted the title after becoming a team, but you could always ask, small one.”

Jumping nearly out of your boots, you jerk, and glance around toward the door. Your mother’s standing there, looking at you. It’s so like her to know exactly what you’re thinking. She’s known all this time that this is where you come, and her expression is sad. Why is she sad? The setting is something you had not imagined seeing your mother in before. Yet, when Jane comes out, they wrap each other in an embrace, like old friends. 

“Well bless my soul, Smith Vantas coming down to my restaurant after so long. You’ve been a stranger!” Jane exclaims, patting your mother lightly on the shoulder. 

“I came down to sit with my son and enjoy a drink,” She explains, with a smile and a pat to Jane as well. “How about another bottle of that wine you make so well?”

Jane smiles back, and nods, sobering a little. She looks between the two of you. “Right you are, Smith Vantas, I’ll be right back with that. You have a seat, make yourself comfortable.” Before Jane bustles off, she leans back in and gives the both of you a kind grin. “I was just about to close, but I’ll make an exception for you two.”

And so your mother sits down at the table next to you, staring out into the mouth of the canyon. This time of year, the moon no longer sets in the center, as a picturesque view. She sighs contentedly at the sight, anyway, and crosses her left knee across the other. 

“I was hoping I would find you here, dear,” she says, tone unreadable. 

The situation is still very… odd to you. You’ve been separating your mother from this part of your life for so long. “Why so, mother?” You ask, carefully. The wine is making a little buzz in your chest. You find yourself smiling despite the tentative air. She turns briefly from the view of the canyon mouth to look to you, and grins, herself. It’s pain that you see in her eyes. It sparks more concern than you’ve felt for her in a long time. Or needed to feel for her, rather. The charm bag on your chest shifts with the dragon amulet as you lean toward her. 

“Today would have been your father’s fifty-seventh birthday,” she says, softly.

Oh. So she was lonely? It’s been… quite awhile since you spoke about it. How does she remember the days?

“You’re looking so much like him these days, dear,” she adds. And it makes sense. Of course your aging and working would only serve as a reminder to her. 

“Now, son, I can see you thinking, and it’s not your fault. You can’t help how much you resemble him, and you definitely can’t help your old madjem getting sentimental,” she scolds you, and you sit back, a laugh caught in the back of your throat. Of course she saw right through you. It’s what mothers do, isn’t it? 

After you sit back, however, you feel the silence stretch. It turns awkward, and then a little tense, and when your mother sighs, you can’t help but feel like it’s only you that feels it.

“You said…” you start, clumsy. Between you and your mother, your usual bravado and snark are unnecessary. Impossible to maintain, even. “You said I resemble him. I don’t really remember him as well.”

At that, her face draws down, saddened. To be the only one who truly remembers her late husband, it must be agony. She has no one to talk to about him. So you’ve invited her to share. 

“He was tall as you are now, when you stand. You both have the same dark hair, the same eyes, the same smile. The profile is uncanny. And he thought you would grow to look like me,” she tells you, laughing. “He was always so kind. To everyone. He would offer food even when we only had enough for us, and he would always…” she chokes up. “Always be there, when I needed him most.”

She doesn’t cry, though, your mother. Instead she starts to laugh, the edges of them catching like sobs, and the beginnings curved up like her smile. You have nothing to say. 

“It’s good that your father’s body was found. It’s so sad that we couldn’t bury or burn Kankri with him, but you know how it is,” she says, and trails off.

You do know how it is. It’s not uncommon to not have loved ones return from war alive, but it’s also not uncommon for dragons to be harvested after their death, especially at that time in war, all those years ago. Your father’s dragon was never found. 

“My apologies for getting emotional on you, son,” she says. “I was commissioned a pair of weddin’ rings today.”

It’s then that Jane comes around the corner, looking a little flustered. “I’m so sorry, dear, I just went and got distracted! Plumb went and forgot about the wine, I’m so caught up in wedding food plans!” She sets down a bottle of wine, and you look up toward where she came from. Her head baker is standing there, wiping his hands on a towel. He bends to pick up a few chairs, placing them atop the table they sat next to.

“It’s no problem, honey, I came in rather late,” your mother says, pausing after a second to give her a very deliberate wink. Crocker’s face almost illuminates with her blush at the implication. 

“Now, miss Vantas, I’ll not have you accusing me of being indecent while I have a job to do!” She doesn’t sound angry, though, and just laughs it out. Your mother laughs, too. Jane flaps her hand and scuttles off again. The baker follows her with his eyes until she reaches him, and he places a hand on her lower back, leans in, and drops a kiss on her brow. Playfully she pushes him away, and points to the rest of the chairs in the inside portion of the restaurant. The hand on her back reminds you of Dave’s palm on your spine, almost months before.

Your mother’s sigh breaks your reverie, and when you look at her, her face is drawn. 

It’s too easy to scoot your chair over a little bit, and place an arm around her shoulder. A little distraction could do her some good, it seems, and she leans into your shoulder gratefully. “Thank you, son.”

“You shouldn’t be thanking me,” you tell her thoughtlessly, pouring the both of you some wine. She sips hers gratefully. 

“Why not?” She asks. And oh. 

_Damnit._

You’d meant to keep that to yourself. The wine, you guess, and the memories, and the conversation, though. They distracted you too much. Sometimes things just… slip. 

Though you really wish it hadn’t been this.

“No… reason,” you try, even knowing that she’ll just see through it. A ball of lead is forming in your gut, solid and persistent.

“Karkat,” is all she says, and then you’re spilling. As if you’re five years old and knocked over the sugar jar, again. Broken glass littering the floor, cuts on your hands, and sugar in your shoes. 

“I didn’t want the leg,” you admit. The ball of lead loosens, and then spreads. It solidifies in your veins, hardens the line of your mouth, makes your teeth and tongue feel too dry. “I’m getting used to it, and I’m grateful, but… I don’t deserve… it.”

“I think I understand,” she’s saying, almost too soon after you finish, and you’re so taken aback by her response that you laugh. Honestly, you hadn’t even thought about her finding out. The idea of her discovering that you didn’t like her gift, at first, hadn’t even crossed your mind, and you hadn’t thought about scenarios. If you had, this would be a best-case result. 

“I wish you’d’ve told me, from the start. But… I think I knew, this whole time,” she continues. Part of her tone is scolding, and part of it is gratitude that you’re telling her this, but there’s no disappointment. The absence of disappointment actually has you recoiling a little, not knowing how to deal with it. Not knowing how to deal with the lack of something you’d expected. “I didn’t expect you to be able to be okay outright. I just wanted to help you get there.”

The lead in your limbs has tied itself into knots, and with that last sentence, at least two of the knots unravel and just… dissolve. 

It feels so good. 

“It’s alright, son. You don’t have to like it yet, you don’t have to think it’s part of you, and I won’t be mad if you never do. I just wanted to help you recover some of your life,” she adds. 

It makes you bristle, and some of the good feeling goes away. Was your life not good enough? It was obviously not what it was before, but your immobility didn’t make your life any less full. The bit about recovering some of your life… mother feels your shoulders tense, obviously, because she puts a comforting hand on the back of your neck, and squeezes. 

“Now, now, I’m not saying you weren’t capable without two working legs, son. It was quite the opposite. You did more than I ever expected. I just mean that… well…” She draws off, and you force yourself to relax. “I remembered how much you enjoyed life before. When you came home, everything was wrong. You didn’t move for weeks at a time. You withered. It was selfish of me, but I thought, maybe if I could give at least your leg back to you…”

She trails off as if she’s lost the end of her sentence. You sit in silence, swirling the wine in your cup. Mother takes a fortifying gulp of her own, and lets out a huge breath. 

“Maybe if I could give your leg back to you, you could heal more. In your soul, son. You’ve had a hard time recovering. I’ve seen it in you, Karkat, and don’t you dare run off on me this time when I say it, but it almost seemed like you don’t want to improve,” she says. Her words are firm, and you can clearly feel the sadness being eagerly replaced by her familiar mothering tone.

Remaining silent, you choose to let her finish her piece. Her words have already smoothed over the ruffling caused by her almost-implication about your life being less full, just because of the leg. You remember that conversation, months ago. You remember her trying to communicate with you, and you not really listening. It gives you enough pause to do nothing, no matter how much you want to do _anything, something._

“I don’t know if it was guilt, or if it was the leg being gone and giving you an excuse to not recover, but you were dying in there. You were still there, in that bed. Yes, I know that the young mister Strider has helped you as well. He’s been entirely more successful at getting you out of the house, making you new friends… if someone told me last winter that this would be the case, I would probably laugh at them. Right to their face.”

“I would have laughed right at their face, and then I would have gotten angry. I would have thrown a right fit, because who is saying someone can heal my son better than me?” She asks the night air. You’ve stopped drinking. “It was a little late, but… even if you don’t like it yet, thank you for using it. Thank you for trying.”

“I’m proud of you no matter what.”

Your eyes are burning.

“Thank you for making it, madjem,” you reply, and there’s a tear rolling down your cheek. It drags straight to the tip of your nose, then drifts back along the scar that bisects your upper lip. 

She puts one arm around you, swigs the rest of her glass of wine, and pulls you close for a moment before drawing away and standing. 

“Now,” she says, “Leave dear Janey a coin and let’s get on home for the night. I have to get up early to make earrings tomorrow, and I want you to help me around the forge. I need a steady hand for this metal, and Jake nearly broke his knuckle yesterday. The wedding’s in a few days, after all.”

You do just that, draining the rest of your wine before clambering to your feet. Mother waits patiently for you as you leave a coin on the table, and navigate around the chairs and toward the stairs. You both wave to Jane before making your exit, who is holding a long list and checking off items. She waves back, and goes right back to work. 

The walk home is quiet between you, but pleasant. 

 

* * *

 

Kanaya Maryam makes the wedding gown, a long, draping, tight-sleeved, almost transparent thing with a long skirt, and hundreds of crystals prisms and tassels hanging from fine silk strands on the sur-cotehardie. With it, Roxy wears elbow-length gold cuffs, and a tall, solid golden collar that makes her neck seem even longer and more regal than it normally is. 

When she’s walked down the aisle between the pews of the hall, Rose on one side and Dirk on the other, she makes the room shine. The first frost has come and gone, but the chill of the room has no effect on her stride. Proudly she almost floats up to John, who can’t take his eyes off of her. Dave elbows him from the front of the room, and gets a punch in the arm. 

John is wearing formal clothing, with a decorated shawl over his shoulders, and it looks odd on him. Especially with the tan line from his goggles on his face. Equius isn’t in the building, as he would just cause mess, but you know there was a small private ceremony involving the dragon as well. It has to do with the bond, and the magic, and a whole lot of things you don’t know about. It’s none of your business right now, anyway. 

The couple has been inseparable for days, whispering in corners and visiting Jane to check on the food, and even coming to watch you and your mother work on the earrings to replace the engagement jewelry. In fact, John showed up a few days ago, two days before Dave and Dirk returned. He and Equius traveled for three days and nights, not stopping except for a meal or three. They were both exhausted, and rumor has it that John burst into Jane’s, where Roxy was eating lunch, and threw himself at her, he was so excited. 

It’s sickening, really. 

But it makes you smile. You have very jaded views on love, yes, but even you are drawn in by the gossip of the whirlwind events. It’s the son of the Earl of Egbert, after all. The heir to the town’s legacy, good and kind, is marrying a powerful sorceress, and it’s been the talk of the town since he returned.

Roxy makes it to the front of the room, and you follow her eyes to John. He’ll be spending a week or two in town, and then going back to his duties. It is a good while yet before it’s time for him to train to take the Earl’s job, and he has a contract to maintain. Their time apart will hurt them, but they’re doing it anyway, and getting married. Just to be officially a pair. It’s all so sickening. Sickening. 

A movement from John’s side, up at the front of the church, catches your eye. Dave is stepping away from John, to give Rose and Dirk room to situate the dress. He looks up and catches your eye. He came to visit you for a short time, yesterday, and it was as if he’d never left. Joking and bickering and talking about his travels was nice, and you’d sat down at Jane’s for an hour or so before he’d announced that he had to join John for wedding preparations. 

A small wave to him, and you’re looking back at the couple getting married. Dirk and Rose have moved to stand next to Dave, and you can’t help but feel like these siblings do entirely too much in this town. It’s belatedly that you notice Jade standing next to Dave, as well, and you wonder when she got there. The Earl of Egbert begins to speak, officiating the ceremony. 

The two betrothed say some words of promise, light several candles, and light a goblet full of wine with their hands joined, all by the book, before they are allowed to attach each other’s earrings. John starts, pushing hair back from Roxy’s ear, where her engagement earring hangs from the upper section of the cartilage. A pair of what looks like gold cutters is pulled out, though these are very obviously made for ceremony and not daily use. 

John snaps at the earring with the tool, and it clinks as he pulls it out and drops it to the ceramic bowl before him. Then, carefully, with both hands he delicately inserts the new metal. Jade comes forward, and you can see a spark, and Roxy moves away, the piece of jewelry solidly in one piece and dangling the new, filigreed piece of gold where it will never be removed. 

Roxy does the same to John, and there’s applause. Your mother, wearing a custom-tailored suit, claps the loudest that you can hear. The Earl says something, and Roxy reaches out, pulling John in by the collar and sweeping him into a kiss. His arms wrap around her, and he tilts his face into her mouth. 

Dave hoots from behind them, Jade whistles loudly, and John stretches out a hand to give them a crude gesture. The newlyweds’ lips part, and the Earl of Egbert is holding out what looks like the traditional fur, this one large enough to be a bear, and deep pewter in tone. John takes it from him, wrapping it around Roxy’s shoulders, and kisses her again, using it for leverage.

 

* * *

 

There’s a party afterward at the Egbert mansion. Mother heads home before the party, claiming that she needs to get up early. You give her a hug, and let her go with the promise that you’ll bring some of Jane’s food back for her lunch tomorrow. 

Dave meets you at the doors to the Egbert mansion’s back garden. “You cleaned up. Is that a new uniform?” He asks, and you frown at him. It’s a familiar frown to feel on your face, and you welcome it back. 

“It’s the same one I wore before,” You tell him, and reach down to brush off the smoothly lined front of the long cross-lapel. There is a difference, you suppose, if you count the pant leg being rolled down, now, over the prosthetic leg. It almost makes you look like you never lost your leg in the first place, if it weren’t for the visible parts shifting under the fabric. Kanaya had also re-tailored your jacket to fit your new muscles better, and even you liked how it looked. 

Dave moves to stand beside you, and holds out his elbow. “May I be your escort for this evening, my good sir?” He asks, mock-casual. 

“Fuck off,” you reply, rather affectionately, and walk forward, ignoring the arm. He laughs, loud, once or thrice, and catches up to you to slap your shoulder. 

“I missed you, man. That was great,” he says. 

You give him a look that you hope conveys the same, and head into the garden. 

There’s a group of enchanted instruments playing a lively gig over by a large open section of stone patio, and there are lights everywhere. Despite the chill of the evening, this area is warm with laughter and merriment. 

The invitation list was modest, but you see everyone you expected to see, there. John and Roxy are sharing the traditional first dance of the wedding, even though the tables are full of food, and everyone else is seated and clapping the beat of the tune. The informality of the dance strikes you as odd, as these two are technically nobles in their own right. But it fits them. Their feet skip around each other, quick, evenly placed, and practiced. John is worse at it than Roxy, even as he makes extra effort to not step on her dress. The dress is pinned up already, as well, not even really in the way. 

The sight makes you chuckle. Dave places his hand on your bicep, leading you around a few tables, carefully avoiding dresses, to the one at which the members of family sit. Jade is there, and before you can sit, she walks up and gives you a short hug. It catches you off guard, and you end up frowning at her. 

“Relax! I missed your grumpy face, sue me!” She exclaims, and moves to wrap Dave in her arms next. He takes it better than you, even as you sit yourself down. Jade plunks down on one side and Dave on your other, and you can see Rose and Dirk not too far away, engaged half in eating, part in watching the couple, and a large part in what seems like an intense conversation about something you probably don’t want to know. 

There’s food placed in front of you, and a glass of what is obviously wine, and you dig in. Dave and Jade talk across you while they eat, and you almost wish they would sit next to each other instead. It’s nice, though, being in the literal center of a conversation. 

John and Roxy finish their dance soon enough, and as people clap, they come, attached at the hand, back to the table. The Earl of Egbert says something teasing to John, very obviously, and his face fills with red before he makes what he probably hopes is a subtle noise of complaint and gives his father a light shove. 

Roxy’s already digging into her food, being very careful to keep the roasted chicken leg above her plate, so as not to get any grease on her dress. John clearly forgets to eat, instead leaning on an elbow and just watching her as if awestruck by how much meat she can fit into her mouth at once without spitting it out. 

“Hey John!” Dave calls. “Close your mouth or something will fly in!”

The whole table laughs, and John gets even more red, the color filling his goggle tan line and then all the way back to his ears. 

Rose leans over your shoulder, once things have quieted down a bit at the table. 

“Are you wearing your protection, Colonel Vantas?” She asks, and you turn slightly and frown up at her. 

The bag jingles on your chest as you move, the iron pellet and pieces of acorn and lightning-struck wood clink together just audibly inside the leather. Rose’s face goes blank when you look at her, and like a cloud went over the moon, she’s blinking away a light film on her eyes. Her nose screws up in confusion, and she reaches out to touch the side of your neck, where the band is that holds the charm. 

It tingles slightly against your skin, you get the feeling that she has recharged the magic there, and she steps back again. “Do be careful tonight, Colonel,” she says, and ends up walking over to whoever is sitting next to the Earl of Egbert, and leaning in to talk. They’re currently obscured by the vase in the center of the table, and you give Rose one more lingering glance before going back to your eating. 

The interaction sets you on edge for the rest of your meal.

 

* * *

 

A bit later, music starts up again, a familiar tune you recognize, and couples filter to the floor. Jade grabs your hand, and doesn’t relent. A woman you recognize as the third of the Lalondes is leading the Earl of Egbert away to dance, and Dave holds up his hands, not intending to come to your rescue. 

“Come on! Let’s go!” She says, pulling insistently. Maybe it’s the drink giving you confidence, or the night carrying you away on its good feelings, but you go with her. 

Jade turns out to be easy on her feet, and you remember more of the steps to common dances than you thought you did. Dancing is something you haven’t done for years. The fiddle is lively, and Jade knows the jig, and it’s just… it’s nice. Her hands catch yours, and the two of you manage to achieve a clumsy affair that doesn’t put too much pressure on the use of your left leg. The uniform is a bit tight on your shoulders, but it’s not too much trouble. 

You step, she steps, you lead into a spin and she twirls merrily. It’s… well, it’s fun. More fun than you remember having in ages. 

The song changes, and you continue dancing. The leather casing of the prosthetic leg pinches the skin of your thigh the more you move but you can’t quite find yourself caring. 

Someone catches your hand, then, and Dave is there, asking Jade if…

“May I have this dance?”

Jade laughs, and steps back, releasing you. “Of course, sire Strider.” She curtsies in an exaggerated fashion, and waves to you before walking away. 

_Dave is dancing with you?_

He reaches for your other hand, and captures that one, as well. The clothes he wore today are clean, pressed, sharply tailored, but move delicately with his movements as he steps forward, into your space. Why? Why is Dave dancing with you?

More importantly, why haven’t you seriously questioned it? 

The wine fizzles in your head, and you can feel your face heating. 

“Strider,” you say, reprimanding. He grins. 

“Vantas,” he returns, in the same tone. 

And so Dave leads you back into the crowd by your hands, and when the music changes again, into something more slow and heartfelt, he slips one palm to your waist. You hand finds it there, and you recognize this as the starting form of that dance that your mother had taught Dirk at the planting festival. From your homeland, and hometown.

The other instruments are silent as the single violin guides the dancers through the steps. He moves around you, holding your right hand over your head in his left, and drawing his fingers lightly about the middle of your waist. Heat rushes to your cheeks. 

_How did he learn this?_

A small space forms around the two of you as he leads into a series of steps, weaving the fingers of his free hand about yours, and pulling you to him. His face is so close, and he’s grinning like he’s hoping you’re proud of him learning. When the cadence switches, and you catch his waist instead, and turn to move in a circle around his feet, you don’t even have to think about it. You laugh. Your heart thumps, skips, and catches your breath. 

“You ass. Where did you learn this? Did Dirk have to teach you on the road?” You ask, switching back into the original position when the cadence changes movements again. 

“I might have had him do that. He didn’t help me much past a few runs, though. I had to figure the rest out myself. Thank the Light I remembered right,” he admits. And just as he says that, he misses a beat and hits your foot by accident. You find yourself laughing again, shortly, and he looks so proud of himself that you have to do it once more. 

His hand on your back holds you firmly when your metal foot catches on a stone, and you don’t fault him for missing any more steps. The slow and dramatic violin sings from the corner, and the night air is brisk on your nose. Dave leans into you the next time he circles, sharing your breath, and he’s so close you can see the barely-there gold ring on the inner rim of his irises.

When the song ends, there’s a mild amount of applause for the various dancers present, and you step apart. When Dave’s fingers unwind from yours, and his heat leaves you, you find it rather anticlimax.

And then you look up, and you see him. 

Standing there at the garden gate, just under a torch.

Sollux Captor. 

What is _he_ doing here?

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspiration for dave and karkat's dance comes from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ouMlUZt9DI). yeah i rly like that movie okay, i have the score soundtrack and it came on my shuffle while i was in the car one day. hahaha
> 
> anyway hope you guys liked this chapter and you'll forgive me for the next one!!! see you on sunday and I hope y'all have a wonderful week!
> 
> YEAAAAAH 69420 WORDS *thumbs up and wink for years*
> 
> YOU MAY HAVE NOTICED ALL THE WEIRD UNDERSCORES  
> that's 420 underscores  
> 69420 lyfe 5 ever guize


	17. EPISODE 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The talk with Sollux doesn't work out quite like Karkat expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **tags for this chapter:**  
>  -extremely dubcon  
> -magical coercion

The first officer from your military career is standing there, hands in his pockets. He lifts one of those spindly, pale hands and waves at you from across the room. It’s hard to breathe as he steps another foot into the garden. Not in uniform. Why does he look so out of place, in civilian clothing? Why is it affecting you so?

“What’s up?” Dave asks, from somewhere to your left. You can’t look away, why is he here?

A sharp intake of breath from next to you, most likely at seeing an unfamiliar face, and Dave asks, “Who is that?”

“Captor,” you breathe.

When he speaks again, his breath heats your ear, with the closeness that secrecy requires. You don’t mind. “Your first officer?”

You nod.

“Well then. Let’s say hello, shall we?” And Dave is pulling you off the dance floor and around toward the garden gate. Suddenly you’re self-conscious. The longer part of your hair is pulled back, it’s gotten so long now, so you don’t have to worry about that. But is your uniform clean? Are you sweaty, from dancing? Did you wash the grease and soot from under your nails?

When Dave pulls you up in front of Sollux, the man peels off the wall and walks the last foot toward you. He’s taller than you remember, and he’s gained a small amount of weight on his skeletal form. Probably his wife’s cooking. His hair is still the same length, though, and falling messily across his face. He still wears his dragon-glass spectacles, and he still has a little too much canine in his mouth when he grins at you.

“I see you’re doing well, KK,” he says, and finally some mannerism comes to you. A frown in your brow and a deadly, toothy, familiar grin take their proper place on your face. These parts of your expression feel foreign despite their familiarity to you, from disuse.

“Better than you. What’s she been feeding you, pork fat and chocolate?” Your arms find somewhere to be, and they cross over your chest. It’ll wrinkle of your uniform, but you can’t find it in yourself to care right now.

Sollux’s face softens, and his grin gets a little more genuine. In return, you feel your own face melt into something less purposefully strong. “Pretty much,” he tells you. Like an afterthought, he notices Dave.

“Who might you be?” He asks him, sounding suspicious despite his own showing up in an unfamiliar town.

“Dave Strider,” Dave answers, and holds out his right hand. Sollux shakes it briefly, and then withdraws.

“Charmed,” he says, dry and a little bitter on the tip of his tongue, a perfect echo of how you felt upon first meeting Dave. It seems a little odd, seeing as Dave hasn’t done anything to warrant the reaction. Sollux is also more… civil in social situations. He was the manager of the blowout from your supreme lack of tact for years.

You can finally look away from him, though, when Dave speaks, and you look to the dragon rider. Dave makes a motion with his hands, as if unsure of the situation, and then relaxes. His lips are pursed, his brow a little drawn, like he’s not quite sure what to make of the whole situation. A decision is stuck battling on his face. Looking between the two of you, he reaches out to pat your shoulder.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” he concedes. “We can catch up more tomorrow, yeah Vantas?” Dave gives one last tense look at your old friend before turning to you for his cue.

You nod at him, and he grins and walks away. His hand lingers for a second on your upper arm, until you shrug him off with a glare. It makes him laugh, even so, and he waves over his shoulder as he walks away. Dirk meets him halfway back to his table, and you miss him slinging an arm over Dave’s now sloping shoulders, asking him what’s up.

 

* * *

 

Ten minutes later, you and Sollux are walking across the same bridge Jade had spoken to you on all those months ago. You’re heading toward the beach, a good place to walk and chat, and Sollux is simply following. His hands are crossed behind his back and he’s bent slightly over, the way he likes to walk with you. The familiarity of this whole situation gives you a chill. It’s been more than a year since you last walked with him, a little less than that since he saw you last standing.

It brings you all the way back to your first official night in your own command. Makara had just left, strangely saying farewell by kissing you on both cheeks and then giggling in your ear. Sollux had turned to you, in your tent, and gotten down on one knee to swear a more unofficial fealty. After you’d accepted it, you had pulled him to his feet and given him a shove. Your closest friend.

Despite your easy greeting, neither of you has said much of anything yet. Your mind can’t help going back to the letter he sent you that left you in an unfortunate state. You’ve already mourned what was. There’s still pain between you. Just in the way he walks with you, though… there’s an aching familiarity there in your throat. Like a trick knee being strained and then kicked.

It’s good being with your friend. Maybe you can try to salvage yourself enough, and the two of you can write more often, visit, be better friends again. You were familiar, before the war, even before you started meeting him in your tent at night. It would be easy to sink back into that rut. It’s something you want so dearly. You hadn’t realized how much you needed a friend, nonetheless a friend who understood… everything. Hopefully you can make up properly? You would abandon all of your past feelings for that. Just as he tried to, little more than a year ago.

He’s a married man. He doesn’t need you, and he doesn’t want your heart. Can’t want your heart.

“So, you really do look like you’re doing well. I see you got a leg made, and it looks expensive,” Sollux observes. The way that his teeth stick to his tongue when he talks gives his words a hiss, same as always.

A prickle on the back of your neck, and you’re stopping to look at him. He’s stopped in the middle of the bridge, staring at your back. Or is it your leg? It’s hard to tell, with his tinted lenses in the dimness of the night. It’s not strange for him to stop to gather his thoughts, and you walk back up to him, pulling to straighten the bottom of your double-breasted jacket. The neckline feels tight on your throat, and you reach up to undo several of the buttons. It strikes you too late as a nervous gesture, and your coat is already open.

“Why are you here, Sollux?” You ask. Blunt.

“Well, I do have a long-term commitment to bring you the stipend. It’s a little early, but I left it with your mother. She said she would put it with the rest,” he answers, still not quite looking at you. “I was going to be heading through the area, so Her Majesty asked that I stop in and give it to you.”

Something about the timeline doesn’t seem quite right. Oh yes, the child.

“Isn’t your wife due soon?” You ask him, cocking your head. He flinches, a little, and nods.

That doesn’t seem right, not with how happy he had been before. In his letter, he was ecstatic about the child. If your math works correctly, he should have around… between one or two months before the baby is born.

“You know the queen, she can be convincing. Monetarily, at least. We’re due another child, Karkat,” he explains. And it does explain it. Children are expensive, even with a higher-paying government job, like his. He’s not possessing any official title, as far as you know, but he does have a function. And with his brother living with him, after his accident… it makes sense.

You nod, and gesture for him to walk with you again.

He doesn’t budge.

“I also… I missed you, KK.”

The words hit you like a bull. He… missed you?

Your mouth fills with acid, and you turn on him. “You dare say you miss me? Me? After what you did?” Trying to keep your voice low, you hold a finger to his chest. He takes the harsh jab, relaxing his own arms to his sides. A caricature of guilt fills his face, and then for a split second it appears as if two halves of him are working against each other, before one wins and the whole expression is wiped clean.

Where your finger touches his shirt, you feel an electric pop. It’s most likely static from the wool of your uniform, so you pay it no heed.

“I’m sorry, KK, I regret everything I did,” he says, softly. An almost beatific smile finds his lips and he holds up his hands, like surrender. Contrary to what you had just been thinking, you believe him. You would trust Sollux with anything. The belief is bitter in your mouth, though. What is he playing at?

“I…” he hesitates. Something seems off about him when the two things war on his face again, and when one of them wins, he leans forward and touches your face gently, with the first three fingers of his right hand. “I did love you in the war. But we couldn’t stay together, KK. I wish we had.”

Where his fingers touch your skin, you feel like sparks are dancing across the skin, and you’re drawn to him as if by a line. They shoot along your arms and legs, and straight to your skull and toes. The fingers trace down to your neck, around to cup the back of your skull, and you find it impossible to care about anything when he pulls you into a kiss.

Sollux kissing you is the best thing that’s happened to you in months. The very best. Forget his wife, forget his children, forget Dave, and forget everything. How good it feels to have someone wrapping themselves around you, and warming your breath with their own. His body nudges yours until you’re pressed against the rail of the bridge, back bending under his touch. Warm mouth dragging across your own, producing a needy noise from the very back of your throat.

When his tongue finds the back of your front teeth and pulls, just like you like it, you gasp. You push him away, only to pull him back to you when you lead him off the bridge and into the nearest alleyway. Sollux crashes his body into yours, crushing you to the brick wall, thumbs sneaking down to roll circles into the base of your spine.

Everything is hot, and you missed this a whole lot more than you thought even two hours ago.

Everything is _perfect_ , and wonderful. Nothing is wrong with this, nothing at all. Nothing is wrong.

Everything has felt so good and calm today and Sollux is so familiar, and warm, and still wearing his glasses.

You can’t see his eyes as he devours your mouth. That’s the only problem. When you were alone together, you could always see his eyes.

“Take those off. I want to see you,” you command.

Sollux chuckles deeply, like he has plans for you. “Why would I do that, when my hands could be doing much better things?” He asks. His tone is sinister. No… his tone is warm, and sexy. Not sinister. Why would Sollux of all people be sinister? Especially while he’s kissing you?

The alleyway is perfectly dark and cozy and cool from an entire day in the shade. The cold wall makes you hiss, but he warms your back with his hands soon enough.

“Moving awfully…” A kiss, you’re breathing heavily, “Fast, Captor?”

“I didn’t know how much I needed you until I saw you, KK,” he replies, and the more he talks, the more silver his tongue is, and the more you feel an urgent need for him. A desperation to be closer, a heat from the base of your spine to your teeth. Your head jerks back, and hits the wall.

“It’s fine,” you gasp, as his fingers trace the waist of your pants. You don’t care much about anything. Your heart is beating in your chest, and it feels like something should be wrong here. But it’s not wrong. When he thrusts his tongue into your mouth, it’s _especially_ not wrong. When he pushes the shoulder of your jacket off, and your arms go limp, it’s especially not wrong.

You moan softly, the sound tasting unfamiliar on your tongue, when his head moves to the side to push heated kisses into your jaw. The lips and teeth travel to your neck, layering kisses upon kisses there. The hand that’s not tracing the front of your uniform moves around to run across the base of your spine again. He’s grabbing something on your neck with his teeth, but it’s not your skin. A whine in complaint, and he yanks the thing off. Whatever it is, it lands on the ground with an inconsequential thump, and you’re able to redirect his mouth to bite your neck again.

Pure euphoria fills you, and when he hits that sweet spot just behind your ear, you melt. One of his hands is slipping down the front of your pants, and the other is cradling your tilted jaw. Why does he feel so much taller than you? Oh right, the leg. What leg? He’s always been taller than you, just not that much. You must be sagging. Oh well. A groan penetrates the air, and you find yourself bucking eager hips into his flat, warm palm. He hasn’t even touched you yet.

“You’re mine,” he snarls into the dip of your collarbone, and Light above, you’re so _weak_.

“GET AWAY FROM KARKAT!” a voice is yelling, and Sollux is yanked from you violently.

He hisses and snarls, like an animal, at the intruder, and the spell is broken.

What were you… doing?

Everything is so... The alleyway is suddenly far too bright, the air too cold and harsh, the smell of the ocean pungent and biting at your nose even from such a distance as it is. You slump on the bricks, legs shaking.

“Sollux?” You whisper.

His glasses have fallen off and lay bent on the ground beneath one of his shoulders. His eyes… they’re not right at all. But you want him. It’s so wrong but your body aches for him, taking one shuddering step to where he lies crooked on the ground.

Oh. The bile rises in your throat. Something is… everything is crashing down on you. All of that talk about trust, about wanting… why did you want so much, what did you do?!

Dave is there, with a woman you think you recognize, who runs up to you and pushes her fingers into your forehead.

“That was a good idea with that protection spell, Dave. And thank everything that Rose had an inkling and refreshed it. Or he could be lost to us, now. Hold that man still.”

It sounds like she’s talking about you, until you shift your gaze up a bit from Sollux’s awful eyes and see Dave keeping him there on the ground. He’s sitting on his back, gripping the taller man’s arms crossed in what has to be a painful position with one firm hand, and grinding his cheek into the cobblestone with the other.

Sollux’s eyes are glowing blue and white and red all at once, and it’s dizzying to look at, so you close your own and relish in the clarity that you can feel the woman’s fingers pushing into your brain. Those two pinpoints are like sand on a fire. A sensation akin to stepping through a wall of water occurs, and you’re abruptly aware of your state of dress.

The woman pulls away from you once you blink away the last of the haze, and you’re left reeling a bit as she rushes over to the struggling figure on the ground. Instead of two fingers, she uses all ten to hold him by the crown. Something takes place and he stops struggling. His eyes stop glowing, returning to their normal hue.

It’s quiet. He groans.

“I’m so… I’m so sorry,” you hear. A human voice, a voice full of pain and tears. “I’m so sorry KK – get OFF ME! _LET ME GO! HE MUST DIE!_ ” He’s slipping back into the hisses, crossing into that other him that was there before. Even as tears stream down his face. Blood drips from his split lip.

What have you done?

You straighten your clothing with shaky hands, barely managing to pull your jacket back up.

Sollux, still on the ground, goes still again, and quiet. It’s just sobs now, as Dave gets off his back. The woman’s fingers still press at his head, keeping his eyes from looking at you.

Dave walks up to you, puts himself in your line of sight of the scene. “Are you okay? I thought he was acting a little funny but I left anyway. I should have been here,” he’s saying.

“I’m…” you take a deep breath. Dave is here. It’s… fine, right? Sollux, he… he wasn’t himself.

“What happened? Did he hurt you at all? You’re not under the charm anymore, so I need to ask.”

You find yourself hot in the face at the mention of the charm, and with the nausea, it’s not pleasant. It makes you take another gasping breath, and grip one of your hands tightly on the strap of your prosthetic through the fabric of your pants. “No. He didn’t hurt me,” you answer with what you think is honesty. But your voice is shaking, and you can barely make it sound convincing, even to yourself.

Dave is standing close, but not closing you in on the wall. His voice is very soft and gentle. “It was a spell, Karkat, he hasn’t been the friend you know since he got here, probably.”

“What?”

“He was probably sent here to get that charm bag off your neck so that someone could take you out. You told me that he wasn’t due until later in the winter, I remember that.”

“How do you remember so much, you clod?”

Dave grins, you can see from what you can make out of his face. “He…” you draw off, with a frown. Your eyes feel dry and raw.

He seems to sense your inability to think, here, and lowers his voice. No one will hear it but you.

“Do you want to leave? We can go hang out at the roost until you’re ready to talk to him. He can’t go up there. Mom’s gonna get some info out of him, too, probably,” Dave says. He’s already straightening, like he knows you’ll accept the invitation.

You nod as firmly as possible. So this is his mother, right. You must be terribly lost as to not have recognized her. It’s a lovely first meeting. Dave calls Aradia down into the narrow alley.

 

* * *

 

Up in the roost, Dave and Aradia set you down gently. Going up to the loft sounds like the best plan, so you do that. It’s been more than a month since you’ve been up here, and it looks exactly the same, but for an addition of several drawings and spells, and there are a few new pots of paint. You discard your uniform jacket on Dave’s bed, like a sacrifice, before taking one of the thicker fur blankets and wrapping it around yourself.

There’s something in you that wants you to take off the leg, to get more comfortable, and feel more comfortable in your skin. If you do, though, you’ll be taking off a part of you that Sollux doesn’t know. That feels significant, so you leave it on, and move over to sit in sill of the large window.

Dirk is downstairs, and you hear him jump lightly to his feet and pad over to where Dave is putting Aradia’s saddle up. You hadn’t even noticed Damara in the room. “What’s going on?” He asks, terse.

“Someone after Karkat again. Go find Mom, she’s in town,” Dave tells him.

Dirk curses, and you hear a great windy noise as he just swings himself up on his dragon, sans saddle, and takes off.

Dave comes upstairs, then. He’s just wearing some house clothes, now. Aradia is making a bit of noise downstairs, rolling about with her blankets, and you listen for a moment before looking up at him.

“Why did he…” You’re being so weak, so out of character for yourself. Sollux wouldn’t betray you, right? His hands had felt so good, but as you look back into your memories of not even an hour before, they’re tainted with guilt and shame.

“A spell,” Dave says again, patiently. He sits down in the window with you, a careful foot of space between you. “He wasn’t in control.” You don’t say anything, and let Dave explain it for you.

“It’s most likely that he was being controlled by someone else, and they set a trigger spell in him for you. Not every action controlled, and the host of the trigger spell in this case must have desire for the target.” He pauses after that, and you steel yourself. “The target must also have at least some desire for the host.”

It was the fault of both of you, then.

How far would it have gone? Dave said something about… the charm! You feel around your neck, desperately, and don’t find it there. Panicked, you look at Dave. He’s nodding. “He got the charm off you. Mom also detected some harmful magic in his system. The thing Rose made for you prevented that from activating on time. It was a curse.”

Ah.

As time passes, you feel more and more of your inner strength returning. Dave sits with you, patiently, at one point actually opening the window so that he can stick his feet out and hang them over. The cold air feels so nice on your skin. He takes an apple from nowhere and peels it with his knife, handing you a slice.

“Mom said you should eat, while you were zoned out,” he says, and you take it. Eating makes you feel almost instantly better. Your back straightens more, and your breathing feels less shallow.

Sollux… forced himself on you. But not entirely. Right?

In your service, you were lucky to never encounter coercion of this kind. It’s shaken you, more than you thought possible.

“Feeling any better?” Dave asks, softly, minutes later, and hands you another piece. By now, the apple is three-quarters gone, he apparently having eaten a good part of it while you were lost in thought.

“Sort of,” you say. Not really. Dave finishes the apple himself as you nibble on your piece.

“You wanna talk about it at all?” He asks.

“No,” you say, and it cracks like a whip.

“Alright,” he returns, easily. Gently.

He’s close enough to lean into, so you do. You let yourself lean into him for a minute or two. And then more than that. Just a little bit, pressing your shoulders together, and then the full side of your body. His presence is a comfort.

“He was my first officer. We were such good friends, for years,” you start, and Dave hums, like he knows that it’s a long story. “Captor was a very talented first officer and tactician. As close to a commoner as you can get, without being myself, in a high position. He had been my friend before I got the promotion, and they offered him a promotion, as well, probably to butter me up. He protected me for so long.”

Dave bites more out of the apple. It crunches.

“We became… close, in the last two or so years. Probably… too close,” you admit, firmly. It’s no secret. Definitely not anymore. Dave makes a noise of understanding, and you feel like he actually does understand, now. But he’s not saying anything. Not making a big deal out of it.

"What am I supposed to do about these death threats?" you ask, suddenly, and Dave freezes like he couldn't have seen this conversation switch coming if it was carrying a torch. When he doesn't answer, you're unaffected. It was rhetorical. "I can't do anything, from here, except protect those I care for. I couldn't do anything from anywhere else, either. And then Sollux..."

“He break your heart, then, all that time ago?” He asks, and you suck in a sharp breath. It takes a second to recover from the question, and when you do, you don’t dare say anything. He’s smart enough to gather from that.

He sighs, you think maybe a little angrily. Like he wants to make whoever made you unhappy, pay for it. It’s a comfort. The knife in his hand guts the wood of the windowsill as he shoves it violently between the grain.

 

* * *

 

Sollux, with Rose as an escort firmly gripping the back of his neck in case of any residual magic, comes to your mother’s door the following morning. As he gets down from the cart, he's limping. You go out to meet him, leaning heavily on your cane, and try to give him your best blank face. Your ex-first officer holds out his hand, and your protection charm dangles from the fingers like a chime.

He looks sickly. There’s a rough patch that’s only barely scabbed on his face from where he was shoved into the pavement the night before. He’s also sporting a truly garish black eye, and you can’t help but feel a touch of vindictive admiration for whoever did it. You wonder if he was cursed without his knowledge. Probably. The magic wasn’t friendly to him, it seems, as you examine his drawn face. Stress lines, bags under his eyes from not sleeping, bruises on his wrists from being questioned all night. Half of them are from the war. But that other half–

“You don’t have to trust me. I just wanted to make sure that you were…” _Alright._ It goes unspoken, but you hear it anyway. You take the charm from him, noting how the string on it has been repaired from him tearing it off. You’re careful not to touch his hands. You’re careful not to touch any of him.

“I’m… fine. Are you?” You ask.

“No,” he answers, honestly. The truthfulness of it makes you feel guilty for lying for his sake, but you have to grin a little, bitterly. How very Sollux to call out your shit while revealing something about himself. This Sollux is the real one, that’s for sure. “The red dragon rider gave me the eye.”

_Dave did wha –_

“I did actually bring the stuff from the queen,” he tells you. You know, you checked on it in its safe earlier this morning, when you woke up after a night of fitful sleep. “If you want someone else to bring it for you from now on, I won’t blame you.”

He looks at you, then, and he no longer has his glasses. They sit in his shirt, badly unbent. The look in his eyes claws its way into your heart. It makes you look away. He’s full of guilt and it burns you.

“It should be fine. We both just –” you hesitate, blinking for just a second too long, and breathing your way through it. “We both need...” You don’t want to see him for a long, long time.

Rose makes an impatient face, and you frown down at her. You shift your weight, leaning on the cane again. Slipping the charm back around your neck, you sigh when the magical barrier coats you again. It makes you feel more secure.

“Right,” Sollux mutters. “Well. I should be going. Again, KK. I’m...” He grits his teeth, bites the answer down.

He turns, and leaves you standing there. With no answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologized already im sorry karkat is finding it so hard to be happy pls dont hurt me lol. 
> 
> Fortunately the physical injuries to sollux are from him being tackled, and then dave hitting him. which was more of a lashing out at sollux for this on TOP of breaking karkat's heart. dave's got an overprotective streak, karkat will be talking to him about that haha. to clarify, sollux seems very tired because of both the spell put on him and the long night of questioning by the lalondes. they're trying to find out just who is trying to kill karkat. the only person truly at fault is them. anyhoo!
> 
>  **IN OTHER NEWS** here's a [link](http://royalrastafariannaynays.tumblr.com/post/144029836160/outfit-references-for-my-fic-in-name-and-in-deed) to a post on dave and karkat's FASHION in this fic! I answered a question about it on here but I thought I would make an A/N note about it!!! If you want me to make more fashion posts I would love to, just hmu on the tungles or comment here and I'll explain my ideas!
> 
>  **OTHER OTHER NEWS** about the dubcon: It's not in the main tags of the fic because it's this one instance and I don't want ppl reading and sitting around waiting for the shoe to drop, if you feel like I need to tag something else, feel free to comment here or send me a Polite message on tumblr and we can talk about it there and see what I can do. I'm all about full consent, keep that in mind if you're going to angrily message me something.
> 
>  
> 
> **ALSO I hope everyone is having a wonderful day and weekend! see y'all thursday!**


	18. EPISODE 17: INTERMISSION

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some correspondence between our two highlighted main characters.

_Strider,_

_I’m writing to you first, this time. I couldn’t stand that stupid little enchanted contraption your brother made. With the little wings, and the rabbit ears? It was noisy, wouldn’t leave me alone, and it almost caught my letter on fire before I could even put it in the compartment. Hopefully this stupid thing has some stealth magic on it, or everyone in this half of the kingdom will be aware of our every correspondence due to the racket it creates._

_I also… I apologize for the brevity of this letter. But, for nearly a fortnight now, something has been bothering me. I neglected to ask before you left again. Why did you hit Captor? It was neither your place nor right, given the circumstance._

_My apologies for leaving this on such a sour note, but I thought I might as well ask._

_-Karkat Vantas_

* * *

_vantas,_

_contrary to popular (your) belief, i actually do know your full name. no need to sign it all. “yours truly and forever” would do nicely, actually_

_i… i apologized quite a bit to him, for that. i guess he left it out, and refused treatment. i would, too, if i was feeling rough, and some guy came over and asked me one question about my old lov—_ (it’s scratched out) _friend, and then just put his fist in my eye. its hard to admit, and i hope you wont want me to talk more about it because it was incredibly embarrassing, but i got a little carried away. youre my closest friend, you know? i get to see you for a few hours for a couple days and then he comes in, and doesnt even treat you right._

_anyways. traveling is still pretty underwhelming. the sights are amazing, and ill include a nice drawing for you. but dirks making us train like madmen. aradias gaining strength and stamina every day, and so am i, honestly, but at what cost? honestly, if he puts me through another three-hour training session i might eat my own hands._

_that being said, dirk says hi. terezi does too, and says shed like to meet you. something about your grumpiness being delicious, but thats rez for you. weirder than weird and never gonna change. she and vriska traveled with us for a couple days before the last race. we won, of course. rez says she doesnt think she and vriska are gonna make it to the finals. we had a few dry run practice races today and it was a good workout._

_yeah, i know, why am i saying its a good workout when aradias doing all the work? theres a very long and complicated explanation that would make me sound a lot like dirk, and the thought makes me fucking vomit. basic idea? we share minor amounts of energy while flying. pretty cool, right? ill include a picture._

_oh fuck, explain time is over. dirk is beckoning me. “time to train, dave.” “terezi, you too.” “lets get another endurance marathon in before bed.”_

_sinfuckingcerely,  
-dave_

* * *

_Strider,_

_I… forgive you. But that in no way means that you get to just ignore it and not talk about it. Captor was not in control, you told me that yourself, and you had absolutely no right to hurt him any further than he already was._

_I for one am not sure what happened between the two of you while I wasn’t there. But I don’t need you to protect me. Especially from my old friends. Arguing about this seems a waste of ink but I feel the conversation must be had._

_Vantas_

* * *

(This letter is hastily scrawled on the back of the previous, the paper nearly ripped in half, it seems, angrily.) 

_i can only apologize so many times for what i did._

_yeah it was wrong, it was really wrong, and i cant fix it. its already happened. i lost control for the first time in fucking years and it already happened._

_it wasnt about that night anyway. okay? it was something else. i didnt lay into him because of what he did to you under the influence of magic. look, i gave him a more formal apology for my bad timing, okay, and i tried everything i could and i kick myself for it every day but i cant take it back._

_i just… i care about you, man. thats all i really want to say about it. i only get so much contact here, and i dont want it to be fighting with you._

* * *

_… Fine._

_I won’t forget it, though._

_But fine._

_Your writing’s gotten miles worse, by the way. I really hope it’s because of the lack of time or energy while training and traveling, and not you just being lazy. I’d feel so special._

_I’m sure the scenery is great, despite the full-page scribble you sent me of what looked like a pine tree doing god knows what to a sunset while…. Those birds in the background were beyond awful._

_Where are you now? I’m not as familiar with this region of the continent as I wished I was. I suppose you could say hello to this “Terezi” person for me. You mentioned her before. She’s the blind one, right?_

_Share energy? Is that a racer thing? I don’t remember ever hearing my father talk about it or even mention it. I wish I had more to say, but this town is as drearily awful as always. Mother burnt her hand badly the other day, so I’ve been helping out at the workshop more than ever. I learned a few new things about repairing complex tools. The children miss you, and the Maryams give their regards, yet again, and so does Jane._

_Egbert left a few days ago, to go back to his job, and honestly, his absence is like a balm on my nerves, but he says hello as well._

_-Vantas_

* * *

_vantas,_

_so youre only doing the last name now? i saw how you avoided answering me about the full name thing. youre so transparent. you cant tell, but im giving you a pretty smarmy look. through the paper._

_tell everyone i said hey back. except john of course, but you cant really do that._

_light im bad at letters._

_where are we now… well, we just passed through into a desert town. its on the coast, just past the border where the soil turns to sand. the smith here sucks, can barely do a buckle repair let alone a stirrup fix. i miss your mom. but at least the beach is nice. its white, and the water is so clear. they dont fish much, here, and they dont have any riders, let alone dragons. they do have a statue, though, of a pretty big one. or it looks like itd be big. and a race course. they must have had dragons in the past. im getting carried away, sorry, im tired._

_dirk stopped with the everyday training sessions, as long as were in this region. “everyone needs a break, even you, with your constant laziness and goofing off,” he said. im quoting that. hes intolerable. i love him, but hes awful._

_uh. yeah. the energy thing. its a racer thing, i think. im not sure, but i know john doesnt do it very often, if he does. we all know how, its part of controlling your bond, but it can be utilized in different ways. i think john might use his for stealth? hes already got minor wind affinity. maybe he just uses it to look cool for rox. maybe he uses it to prank his co-messengers, i dunno. sorry, rambling again._

_hows life going? i know the town can be boring. hows m? he holding up alright?_

_tiredly,  
-“my name is dave please use it”_

* * *

_Strider,_

_The town you describe… it’s interesting. It sounds like my hometown. I doubt you’d go there, though. They didn’t have a race course when I lived there. Though the statue sounds vaguely familiar I guess._

_The fishing haul was huge this year, everyone keeps saying. It’s getting colder and colder, and it snowed yesterday. Mother’s hand is better, but I’m still working in the forge. She watches me work, and is training me. Now that I’m mobile, my hands are getting steadier. Working with them in the smithy is helping with that. They used to shake so much before, as you know. It’s warm in there, and the work keeps me occupied when I’m not at the orphanage, so I don’t complain._

_I hate how formal letter writing makes me sound. Old habit from writing communications from the frontlines. I used to write with such a heavy hand and large letters. Thank the Light that’s over._

_I haven’t been to the home much since it got so much colder. It’s harder on my fucking leg to walk down there when it’s frozen. When I do go, they’re always overjoyed to see me. One of the babies learned to walk last week. Porrim almost cried, and punched me in the stomach when I stared at her._

_M is doing well. He goes outside more often these days. He’s taken a liking to the horse, and according to Kanaya, he’s made significant progress. She says he mumbles to the animal when he thinks no one is nearby._

_The children ask about you when I go to see them. They miss you. Attached is a drawing one of them did of you. Enjoy it. Good luck on your race._

_-Vantas_

* * *

_vantas, vantas, vantas._

_you totally did that drawing yourself, its not near anything as messy as the kids would do. its so shitty, i cant stop laughing. seriously. dirk is getting mad now, he cant sleep._

_why did you give me such curly hair? light, and you gave me a giant butt, thats the most hilarious thing ever. the penmanship on the side is too good for it to be one of the kids. and a huge belly and that fucking shitty grin. this is too funny, i cant even describe all the details, theres no way one of the kids drew this._

_you should let me draw you when i get back._

_as payback, of course._

_were back in familiar territory now. its a little cooler here but not as cold as it will be where you are. dirk says to have your mom oil the mechanism hinge before you send your return letter. probably cause of the ice._

_were reaching semifinals now. the finals race is going to be at the capital. ive only been to skaia once or twice. have you been there? oh right, for your award ceremony at the palace, probably. did you see any of the city, though? its a pretty great place. dirk says hi. actually he says “dave put down your fucking quill and come eat” but i think it means the same thing. its a pity letters take so long to deliver. makes conversations bad. conversations with you are a thing of the past, now, arent they? ill wither and die before i taste janes wine again._

_-dave_

* * *

_Strider,_

_Yes, I’ve been to the capital. No, I didn’t see much of it, and no, your helpful drawing of the Queen lifting the city with muscles protruding that I’m certain aren’t there, did not help me visualize it better._

_Mother broke her foot, so I’ve been essentially doing most of the tasks in the smithy by myself. I haven’t had much time to write, so I’m sorry for the delay._

_She had to do the first calibration on the leg yesterday. It was strange, seeing it repaired, but it’s good as new. She told me to tell you to tell Dirk (this is so stupid sounding) to look at it first thing when he gets back, to make sure the calibration is correct. I don’t know why she can’t write him herself, but she’s been so frustrated, sitting around with nothing much to do except all the things I was doing before._

_One of the villagers complimented my handiwork. I guess mother’s training is paying off, but it was only a shovel. A compliment over a fucking shovel. And it felt so great to be complimented. Maybe he should be my new friend, since you insist on being most of the way across the goddamn continent. Jane gives her regards, and says that she hopes you don’t die. She may be alone in that. She has a new spice bread recipe you must try when you get back._

_-Vantas_

* * *

_Vantas,_

_really bringing out the guilt guns there, arent we? just say you miss me. i promise it wont hurt you that much. but who knows, you might seize something and your spine will pop out through your mouth, just because youre admitting that you miss someone. Oh no, im karkat fucking vantas and i cant have feelings or ill combust! ha ha ha._

_okay, enough kidding around._

_i actually have some news for you. the final race is coming up. we made it!! yes, between the two of us, at least one of us is capable of expressing emotions. you may be unfamiliar with this one. its called excitement. me and dirk barely managed to make the qualifier for the final race. there will be a lot of riders in that race. for whatever reason, its only a relay race. whatever. its gonna be held in about two months time, enough for us to get to the capital and do their special qualifiers and train some._

_qnyway, are you okay? rose sent me a message saying there was another attempt on your life. another two, actually, in the last three months. why havent you been telling me about these? that sucks, man._

_-dave_

* * *

_Dave,_

_I can handle myself. I want you to focus on your racing, anyway, and why do you need to be so concerned about me? If you must know, the first attempt was shoddy at best, and someone tried to poison me. Rose saw it coming a mile away, and after making sure to remove the offending substance, she warded the whole fucking house. So now there are ugly sigils on the walls. And I have to go back to sticking a piece of quartz in my food and drink before I consume it. So thanks for that, me._

_The second one was… well, it was mind control. The moron was one of the fishermen from the docks, and he tried to come at me in broad daylight with a knife. You’ve seen me fight, I easily took care of him. With little to no bodily harm, before you ask. But there was something funny about his eyes. One of them had entirely too many pupils, when he passed out. Maybe I was seeing things._

_Your mother seems to think it’s all coming from the same person for some reason, and that they have a lot of money and want me dead. It’s a little ridiculous. Last time I checked, the Ampora family wasn’t gifted with mind control. That’s the family that the man in the shitty pants came from._

_My mother is wearing a charm, now, just in case, and it’s scaring me. I don’t want to move again, to protect her. I like this town. I like all of you. Putting any of these people at risk feels like cruelty. They just helped us build a solid new barn, in the back, for storage. I think mother might also be wanting a horse to make transporting heavy things easier._

_Anyway, don’t let any of this concern you. You have races to be won._

_Then you can come back home._

_-Vantas_

* * *

_karkat,_

_this really sucks. i still wish you had told me about the assassination attempts. i understand why you didnt. i hope youre holding up okay over there. it sounds like everything is going pretty well. hows your mom feel about all this, hows her foot?_

_dirk and i made the secondary qualifier, at least, so thats good news. well be in the final race. i get to invite a few of my friends to sit in the top box. would you come, if you could? thatd be awesome. i could see you and everything. you could see me race, for real this time. and meet all my favorite racers! yeah I know the queen isnt your favorite person, but cmon. you could even stay with jade, she has a pretty nice place with a big yard you can chill and read your crappy poetry in. and its almost always spring here. a nice break from the snow and ice would help anyone. and dirk could look at your leg, if he has a minute. and then after the finals well be heading home! you could totally take that trip with us! im trying hard and wiggling my convincing stick really hard so you gotta come._

_-dave_

* * *

_Dave,_

_Yeah, sure. I’ll come, I guess._

_A change of scenery could be nice. But riddle me this, Dave. How will I get to the capital?_

_I’ll need to pack some things I guess, for the trip. And some money and a kit for my leg care. Put the fucking stick down before you hurt yourself. I’m going to force you to get me there since you want me there so badly, by the way._

_I look forward to seeing you. I miss you. Probably. It could just be indigestion. I have made that mistake before._

_-Karkat_

* * *

_karkat vant-ass,_

_worry for nothing._

_ill send jade. shell know what to do. but you might not want to eat before she gets there. just saying. it can get a little bumpy. shell be there the day after you receive this._

_…_

_miss you too._

_-dave_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! so, fellas, this is going to be the last chapter before I take a 3 week hiatus! that's right, only about three weeks and I'll be back! I'm not taking my laptop overseas with me, and I'll try to respond to comments, questions, and tumblr comments and asks as much as I can and when i have wifi :) 
> 
> I hope everyone has a lovely rest of their may, and I'm sorry this chapter turned out so foggy. it's a lil different from what i usually do, and a little experimental. im not sure about how letter-writing comes off, but my apologies for the stilted conversation, please keep in mind that they will be writing these with days in between if not a week or two! 
> 
> When we come back karkat will be going to the capital for the big race! I already have that chapter written out and im gonna try to proof it before I leave for ireland!
> 
> I love you all so much <3


	19. EPISODE 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our Hero Goes To The Capital City And The Writer Returns From A Different Country

Dave sends Jade to you, right on time, the day after you receive his last letter. You have no worldly idea how he would have known or predicted the timing. Something in the back of your head screams magical shenanigans.

Especially when Jade pops up behind you and startles you, causing the shovel full of precariously balanced burning embers in your hands to crash to the ground.

“Hi Karkat!” She chirps, and you jolt again, almost certainly opening the first steps of causing a horrible fire in the workshop.

Jade squeaks a bit, seeing your blunder, and does something with her hands that un-spills the coals. Two of the yellow tattoos around her fingers glow, and your arms are once more full of heavy, hot shovel. A noise of complaint is all you can make as you heft the load into the grate where you needed them. Laughter trickles from your mother’s side of the project as you turn to glare at Jade.

“What in Light’s dripping, shining fucking glory hole are you doing here?!” You yell at her, thrusting the shovel into the stone floor with a clanging noise. It chips, and your mother scolds you loudly.

“Young man, you better treat the lady well! And no breaking my shovels or you fix it to shining new!” She sings at you, the barest edge of a threat on her tone.

“It’s not my fault I was surprised by the dumbest excuse for a royal witch, popping into fucking existence just behind my light-damn shoulder while I was handling hazardous materials!” You shout back, turning toward her. There’s not necessarily enough space between the two of you to shout, but you do it anyway. Jade giggles.

Jake, the forge assistant, walks over to take the shovel from your hand so that you can talk freely. Before he can, you reach out and smack it sharply. “I didn’t ask you to take the fucking shovel,” you snap at him.

“Your pal is here,” he says plaintively at your tone, and your mother pops her head around the side of a shelf.

“Let him have it, young man, and go talk to your friend!” she lectures, firmly, and you practically drop the spade on the man in question’s foot. “Let me know before you leave.”

“Fine,” you tell her.

Before leaving her sight, you take a deep breath and try to rid yourself of the shock. You shoot your mother a crooked grin.

Despite the surprise of Jade’s sudden arrival, you’ve prepared for leaving already just in case the timing were to work out as Dave planned. You have a larger sack packed with a few changes of clothes, some hygiene items, a repair kit for the leg, and a few other things you might need for the trip. Your mother also managed to wrangle Kanaya into folding your dress uniform in a way that wouldn’t make the wrinkles unsightly after travel, and you’ve been begged into taking it. Honestly, you doubt you’ll be wearing it at the capital with the threat of assassination, but she did ask very nicely.

“Are you all ready to go?” Jade asks perkily. “Dave is so excited to see you!”

The thought fills you with warmth. Yes, you miss Dave. Your closest friend. The work and activity have taken up your time well enough, but you lament his absence when you go to Jane’s, always. It’s been months, and late winter is pulling itself around the bend, holding desperately onto the last of the snow in the shade.

“Wow, Dave was right, you do look good when you smile!” Jade is saying, and you snap out of it. Shifting on your leg, you let the old familiar frown reform in your face, and you turn from her to stick your head back into the workshop.

“I’m out! I’ll see you in a few days,” you call into the room, and your mother bustles over, dusting off her hands before she wraps you in a hug.

“Take care, dear. And be kind to your host,” she reminds you. You pat her on the back and shoo her back to her work, where Jake is bending over a red-hot piece of metal waiting to be hammered into shape.

After you pick up your bag from the house, you turn to Jade.

“Where to?” You ask, waiting for her direction. Jade claps her dark hands together, disturbing the mass of hair on her head with the motion.

“We’re going to Rose’s!” She says happily, and you give her a confused look. Why would you be going to the mansion? It doesn’t make much sense. She begins to walk, though, not explaining herself, and you have no choice but to follow. The walk is mostly quiet, and you find yourself thinking back to Dave’s letter. Why did he say that you wouldn’t want to eat?

 

* * *

 

Sooner than later, you’re standing in front of what looks like a huge, round, white, marble platform. It’s in an unused but clean ballroom in the mansion. It’s engraved deeply with a complex circle, and completely pristine otherwise. Jade claps again with a laugh, and you look to Rose and Roxy, who are standing to your left with arms crossed. Both look like they know something you don’t, and both are smiling very small smiles.

“You get to come back with me, and that’s so exciting!” Jade is saying. The past twenty minutes have been strange for you. The oddest mix of the initial unpleasantness from the festival, and the good feelings from the wedding have settled into your mouth. “The race is in only three days, but I have a very fast travel method! We’re going to teleport!”

_Excuse me?_

You look at her, aghast. What in Light’s name is teleporting by her definition? You’d always thought it was magical transportation, but only for the most powerful witches. How are you expected to manage it?

“Oh, don’t look so shocked, I do it all the time,” Jade is saying, waving you off. “Of course, I just do it naturally myself and with you we have to use a circle, but wipe that look off your face!”

Jade steps onto the circle and beckons you. You can’t do much except follow her, and the last thing you see is Rose’s smirk and her fingers waving you farewell as Jade’s long fingers clasp on your upper arm.

There’s a rush of magic, and then Jade is grinning down at where you’re sprawled on the floor. Everything feels like it’s been ripped down to the barest grains and hastily reassembled. You groan, and look over at Jade’s striped stockings. Her little red shoes tap, and then she’s crouching down to look at you.

“I call that transportalizing!” She informs you. Now you understand why Dave said not to eat anything beforehand. The small amount of coffee you’d consumed this morning is threatening to make a reappearance all over the floor beneath you.

“I call it hell in a handbasket,” you groan. How is she not feeling this? Every square inch of your skin feels as if it’s itching with the magic. The hairs on your head must be standing on end, with how prickly your scalp is tingling, and you know your arms are shaking right down to the fingers. A jar from your pack obviously thumped you on the head when you fell, if the new headache is any indication.

“To each their own,” she counters. Merrily. She’s speaking merrily.

There’s also a kind of indistinguishable pull on the edge of your consciousness. It’s strange, and like nothing you’ve felt before. It has a sharp edge of need and helplessness, and you have to will it away. It’s probably just your paranoia, right? This feels like it’s separate from the transportation, and you very much hope it doesn’t mean you left any part of you behind in Seahaven.

Jade helps you up again, and all notions of a strange pull are wiped from your mind when you feel the second wave of nausea hit. She supports your arm as you dry-heave once, and then twice, and groan.

“Fuck you,” you growl at her, even as you maintain standing on your own. Jade lets you shake off her hands that support you. As soon as you make it off the platform, Jade is in front of you again. She fiddles with your bag strap, and then something in her own robe pocket, and you look around the room.

It’s a large room, and for some reason it feels high up. The walls are fairly plain, also white and etched with sigils that would be difficult to make out were it not for the evening light filtering through the wide, open doorway. The doorway is big enough for a cart, which is strange to you, seeing as just outside it is a set of stairs that wind around the building in either direction. The staircase is fairly wide, it seems, and edged with a waist-height rail that is coated in gold. Is it paint, or real gold?

Out of the window you can see only sky and clouds. You reel back at a loud whooping noise, and a great shadow passing over the opening. Was that…

“Now, now, hold still. I need to fix your face,” Jade is complaining, and she grabs your chin. Your first instinct is to twist her wrist away and have a rather violent reaction to the sudden firm contact. Somehow you manage to resist, however, and simply tense bodily as she holds you in place.

“What the fuck?” You ask smartly, and she laughs at you.

Her laughing at you is getting to be entirely too common.

“I’m making you a disguise. You still have your charm, but it would be better if you weren’t recognizable by people who wished you ill, or even people who don’t know you. A lot of your enemies live here,” Jade explains, face screwed up in concentration. She waves a hand, then, and you feel another layer of magic fit around you like a glove. It itches your face, you reach up to scratch it, and Jade slaps your hand away.

“Give it time to settle before you mess my fancy disguise up,” she scolds you, and you have half a mind to slap her hand right back. Before you do, you take a second to remember how kind she has been to you, despite her power to do otherwise. It makes you settle your muscles and wait for the magic to solidify.

It does solidify, after maybe a minute of standing and waiting. Jade watches closely, and you can feel it form a hard shell around your head. She snaps, and the physical sensation of the magic disappears. Looking satisfied, she brushes two fingers through a pot of dust in her hands, and pulls a stripe of ash down your forehead.

“That’ll hold it. Now. Let me show you to your room,” she chirps briskly, and whisks out. You daren’t touch the ash yet.

The next thing you would do would be to go up or down to your room, but as soon as you step out onto the stairway, you get a bout of unconquerable vertigo that shoots directly to your toes. Jade’s footsteps are going down, to your right, but you can only clutch the rail. You’d forgotten.

Skaia is a floating city.

Jade’s home, her tower, is perched almost on the edge of the mountain that makes up the floating island. The spire of it pricks the clouds with its point. From here, you can see a road on which many people walk. Pink and purple rooftops, most pointed or rounded, stretch into the distance for miles and miles. The great wall around the border of the city has a constant patrol walking along it, as well as arcane focusing stones embedded in several of the parapets.

Jade’s tower is tall enough that you can just barely see over the wall. From where you are, too, and you only seem to be about halfway up. That’s a long drop.

A great shadow passes over you, and you get a sickening feeling of dread before you look up, and see a few fairly large black dragons swooping gracefully by, as if in a murder. One of them puffs out a gust of fire in the air, spinning through it like a knife before bursting out of the plume of smoke on the other side.

A loud voice complains from the group, and then you see the riders. Are these competitors in the race? You don’t recognize them, which isn’t surprising. The voice is loudly scolding the one that had shown off with the fire, berating them for making her inhale smoke, and then they pass.

On their tail sails a flock of white and yellow birds that easily catch and dive in and out of the current the dragons create.

Behind these flyers is a city bustling with life. And dragons. There are so many of them. Messengers shoot in and out of the tall top of a mail tower, a few of them heading straight over the side of the city and to a destination. A patrol of guards, mounted on smaller, armored creatures with wide wings, circles Skaia with resolute concentration. Two stout, muscled creatures with thick leathery wings fly by carrying between them what looks like wooden building supports. You can see several on the ground, if you look hard enough from this height, walking along among the people very naturally.

There are definitely not as many here as there are people. But you can’t help but be amazed.

“It actually takes surprisingly little to keep the city afloat!” Jade says from just behind you, and you jump again. She’s got to stop surprising you like that. “This is only half the city. The other half is on the ground,” she continues, and turns back around again, clearly beckoning you to follow her this time.

The evening light glints cruelly against your eyes as you ascend. It’s odd how the time is so different here. It was late morning in Seahaven when you left.

Rounding the side of the tower that is closest to facing directly out on the city, you can see the Great Crystal. A massive magical stone hovers above the center of the city, though it appears much smaller from your vantage point than it actually is. There must be so much enchantment surrounding that thing, if you got within thirty feet, you would break down into mist.

Jade hooks a sharp right, and you follow her, finding yourself in an extremely lavish bedroom. Gauzy blue curtains hang around the very plush, red, round bed, and around the similar lounge in the corner. There is a table and chairs, a pillar in the center, and a flat wall on one side. The section of flat wall has a small door on it, clearly to house a service elevator for food and laundry, maybe, and a section of folding screen extends from it, intricately painted wood shining in the evening light. There is also a gold-edged dresser with a wash basin, and a set of lockable trunks in this room. Their keys are sitting atop them, scrolled and clearly expensive. You sigh, turning away from examining the open balcony doors to glare at Jade.

She’s giving you a put-upon look when you get her in your sights, and sighs right back at you in a very mock-irritated fashion.

“You’re just going to have to live with luxury! I’m sorry, Karkat, this is the lowest guest room to the ground that I have!” Despite her complaining, she’s hiding a grin, and gives you a pat on the shoulder.

“This isn’t even as nice as it’ll get for you! We’ll be sitting with the Queen to watch the race!” She says, just as you’re putting down your bag. The strap drops from your fingers.

You whip around to look at her. “We’re sitting where?”

“With the Queen!” She echoes herself. And you can see it in her eyes. Knowledge and memory of your situation, and an apology.

There are implications here. The Queen doesn’t just let people sit with her; you’re planned and probably expected to be there. You suspect that the Queen wants to remind you of your place. That she wishes to remind you of the ‘debt’ you have to her, and the agreement that you have. Nothing the Queen does is uncalculated. The prospect of sitting with her for this event fills you with dread.

You’re lost in thought for several minutes, and when Jade puts her hand back on your shoulder, you nearly shout.

“I’m a royal witch. You will be safe. Both from her, and from anyone else,” she murmurs to you. It is some comfort, as she tries to smile at you, and the ears atop her head twitch downward meekly. You’ve risked a lot coming out here. You can’t watch your mother from here, and you can’t keep yourself safe as easily in unfamiliar territory. Yes, you’ve been to the city before. But, most of that time, you were confined to barracks or your rooms in the palace, due to the ‘honor’ that had been bestowed upon you.

Jade leaves you, then, saying something about checking in with the other royal witch tonight, and how dinner will be sent up soon, along with a potion for sleeping, to adjust your sleep schedule. The magic in the room is almost potent, and you get the feeling that it’s all protective magic, for your sake.

Trying to put troubles out of your mind, you further examine the room. There’s a balcony on the opposite side from the door, and a couple of windows set into the wall. The windows are both covered with thick curtains, and the washbasin below one of them has a note stuck to it.

_~If you would like a hot bath while I’m out tonight, ring the bell next to the folding screen! They will bring it up for you! The tub is behind the screen! ~_

_~Jade_

Alright. It’s followed by a crude little doodle of what looks like a smile with buck teeth. There seems to be fresh water in the basin, but you don’t recall seeing the tub when you walked in. The life of a royal witch is definitely a comfortable one. Would they bring the bath up? Before doing anything else, you swing around using your metal leg as a pivot, and peer around the folding screen. Just as she said, there’s a tub there. It’s white on the outside, and has six clawed dragon feet. Six seems like an odd number, but you won’t press it.

A bath does sound heavenly, though, after a long morning of working. You’re not one to turn down this particular luxury, despite knowing how completely unnecessary it is. You pull the rope attached to the bell mentioned, and peel off your vest and belts, and one of your boots, and walk out to the balcony to wait. The edge of it is covered in plants, one of them with white-flowering vines that creep up the wall over the double doors that lead out. A few of the potted plants look like… adolescent pumpkin plants? What an odd choice.

When you peek over the edge of the balcony, you see that your room is directly above what looks like a massive pumpkin garden. The vines stretch unnaturally around truly massive gourds, and the purpose of such a garden completely escapes you.

The door to your room opens, and in walks a… maid? Her footsteps sound almost hollow, unfamiliar to your senses. She’s holding just two buckets of water, which seems like far too little for the size of tub you have. One bucket is steaming, and the servant, without looking at you, proceeds to walk over to the tub and pour it in. It pours. And pours. And pours.

Apparently it’s an enchanted bucket. Who knew.

Eventually she stops the flow by tipping the bucket upward again. She then takes the second bucket, the one that’s not steaming, and does the same. Before long, the tub is most of the way full, and even emits a very pleasant aroma of lavender and clove.

The maid, still not looking at you directly, bows in your direction.

“Thank you,” you tell her, and she perks up.

Let it be said that you are consistently and regularly surprised upon your stay with the witch Jade Harley. Not always in a good way.

The maid is a doll. It shoots unease through your core. An automaton. A… a homunculus, maybe?

Her face is streaked with the lines from her creation, and her eyes are each one solid red sphere. The wooden sound of her feet makes sense, to you, now, as you can see the grain of the tree from which she was made. It’s interesting that the maid was fashioned with the amount of black hair she seems to have, and that she also sports large, round glasses. Just like… Jade’s.

Did Jade make her as a copy of herself on purpose, or was it simple influence from her own reflection? It is said that artists tend to paint others in a semblance of their own appearance, after all.

The notion of a doll moving around and cleaning up both relieves and unsettles you. Relief, due to your aversion to people, and unsettlement from the familiarity. You lift a hand and wave the maid off, and she bows stiffly again, turning to exit the room. At least you’ll never have to worry about a death threat from the working staff.

 

* * *

 

After your bath, food is hot and waiting for you in the little dumbwaiter. Just like you thought. You reattach the leg after putting your undergarments on, leaning on the side of the now empty tub for balance. The tub has a plug in the bottom that you were able to dislodge to drain it into a pipe in the floor, something you are familiar with from your short stay in the palace so long ago.

Carrying the food to the table and chairs in the room, you go to your bag for your testing quartz, stopping to put some clean trousers on along the way. It’s spiced pumpkin soup (why are you not surprised), some kind of flatbread, snap peas, and something that smells like shandy. It all comes out poison and curse-free, and is delicious when you taste it.

It’s getting dark by the time you finish your meal, and the maid-doll comes back into the room to light a few lamps. There is no hearth in this room. Maybe the weather is always nice here, like Dave said. You had a hearth even in your place of birth. Of course, it got cold there at night.

The sun has made the sky into a magnificent array of pinks and oranges and blues by the time you finish your meal. It glints off the rooftops as it escapes over the horizon, and you keep the balcony doors open to watch it. All of the magic from the day has left you off-kilter, and the solidity of the beautiful sunset helps to ground you.

Should you take the potion, to sleep?

You stay awake for a few hours longer, watching the light disappear from the sky, and the lamps come on in the city below.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, you wake with a jarring start when the maid-doll comes into your room to change the water in the basin. She doesn’t need to retrieve a chamber pot, thankfully, or you would feel incredibly guilty. Also behind the folding screen you had found an ornate seat with a wide hole in it. Where it went when you pulled on the chain, who knows. But by the clean streets of the city, you can glean that plumbing is widely used, and that it’s most likely incinerated at the end. So as to not rain shit down upon the other half of the town below, on the ground. Literally.

The sleeping potion must have really sedated you, if you didn’t jump up and switch into defensive when the maid came in. You’re still a bit groggy when you sit up, and you have to rub crust from the corners of your eyes. It takes several minutes of sitting straight to feel truly solid, and it’s very annoying. Perhaps you won’t use the potion again. The sun has apparently risen only an hour before you woke, judging by the amount of light in the room, so you know at least that it worked in the way intended.

The past month or so, you’ve been finding it easier to sleep at home. Here, you fear you may not, or else it will only be a restless slumber, due to the unfamiliarity with the sounds and goings-on of the household. The maid leaves the room, and you scoot over to the side of the bed, in order to put on the leg. It’s fairly quiet in the room without her moving around. A tropical bird that has landed on your porch is making a foreign kind of crooning, but it’s not unpleasant to hear.

Wait, shouldn’t you be hearing the city?

You get out of the bed, scratching your belly, and see that your balcony doors are still open. The city should be much louder, at this time of day, but you can’t hear a thing. It’s not the height, either, you should hear at least a cart, or something. You remember staying in the barracks, here, and it was fairly raucous even from your third-floor room on the inside of the complex. At least, it was more noise than you got out in the rural areas of the kingdom.

Walking over and onto the balcony affords you your answer.

As soon as you step out of the room, the bird flies away. What a wonderful enchantment. Sure enough, you can hear the wheels of at least one wooden vehicle rounding the corner of the nearest street. The sound of a horse’s hooves, too, and the roar of some kind of beast far off.

Further off, in the sky, you see two matching, almost familiar ribbons of color crest a turn into the sky, and then descend once more over the far rim of the island. The Striders? Aradia and Damara? The racers, you know, are all being camped somewhere in the lower city, where space is more generous. Dave never mentioned being allowed to use the actual race course to practice, but maybe they are.

A rather wistful thought concerning them coming to visit you enters your head, and you cast it off. All four of them are busy with their training. Never mind that it’s been entirely too long since you’ve seen your friend.

So you dress, and go downstairs.

Jade is waiting at a decently-sized table on the second floor, which seems to double as a dining and entertaining room. The tower is much wider near the base, and this room hosts some more luxurious furniture. On your way down, you had passed a room full of large beasts and animals, stuffed and staring.

That same odd sensation from when you first got to the city had begun again, grating on your ability to focus for very long and almost causing you to miss a stair on your way down. You’re about to ask Jade about it when she speaks up.

“Let’s go visit Dave and Dirk today! They’re taking a long break after lunch, and you won’t probably be able to see them again until after they win,” she exclaims happily, holding a fork out to point at you.

You huff a breath. “It sounds thrilling,” you feign disinterest, and she laughs.

“I’m sure you’re excited. We’ll leave after breakfast, sound good?” She asks, not really asking, and digging back into what looks like scrambled eggs on her plate.

Walking around the table, you find another place setting ready next to hers, eggs and biscuits and grilled tomatoes sitting on it. There’s a plate of pumpkin scones between the two place settings, and a steaming cup of what looks like tea untouched and ready for you to take.

It’s the tea that makes you sit and start digging into the meal, after taking several gulps of the bitter liquid and sighing in relief when it has nothing added. Black, just the way you prefer it. City folk tend to add milk to theirs, and you won’t berate them for adding sugar, but it’s definitely a preference of yours to take it plain.

The buzz on your mind comes again, and you shake your head to rid yourself of the sensation. It doesn’t go away, and you curse a little under your breath before making a concerted effort to ignore it, and shove half of an entirely-too-sweet scone in your mouth. It’s probably the altitude, and it’s clearly doing you no current harm, so why bother it at all.

Jade breaks off in the middle of a rather one-sided and light conversation about the maid-doll to look oddly at you.

“Are you alright, Karkat?” She inquires, and tilts her head at you. Glancing up, you see her concerned green eyes narrowing in your direction.

“It’s probably the pollen up in this part of the country. I’m likely allergic,” you excuse, and she’s clearly not buying it. But she lets it slide, sinking back into her chair and picking up a scone for herself.

“Okay,” she says, obviously hesitant to let you get away with it.

 

* * *

 

Jade lets you decide how you reach the lower city, and you choose to go by skyferry.

A large method of public transportation from high to low, it’s a gentle descent with the assistance of magic, and large air balloons. It’s not the most graceful-looking thing, but the ferry holds at least seventy people, and gets you from the station on the side of upper Skaia to the station in lower Skaia in about half an hour.

The height doesn’t bother you anymore, and it’s fascinating to see the buildup of lower townsfolk, as well as the racer camping grounds several miles away from the ferry dock. The dragons are everywhere, down here, and you can see why the prize is so large this year if there are so many competitors. Flocks of dragons circle and wind in one another, small and large and working and sport types. In the city, you had seen many dragons, but down here it was as if they existed in concentration.

“Now, when you go out for the next few days, I need to go with you. For your own safety. And because I want to show you the town, of course,” Jade is saying, and you’re silent. The amount of stimulus is overwhelming. Bright flags flutter in the breeze, and you find yourself wanting to go somewhere quiet, instead.

It’s a lot after the amount of time you spent in small towns. Steeling yourself, you follow Jade off the ferry. The town above was alright, as she’d walked you around a fairly deserted area, seeming to sense your discomfort with crowds. Here, however, there were crowds everywhere.

“I got a few days off from my duties, so we can go see whatever you want! Maybe visit some places you’ve been before!” she says, and what?

“What? How did you know I’ve been here for a length of time before?” You ask, echoing your thoughts out loud and giving her a strange look. She moves up to you and seems to give the charm disguising your face a once-over before meeting your eyes.

Jade grins widely. “Dave told me!”

Right. “Confound it, Strider,” you mutter, and Jade giggles.

“Come on, let’s go see the boys!”

 

* * *

 

It’s a long walk from the ferry docks to the camping ground, mostly due to the fact that there’s a lot of traffic to dodge, and the main road winds more down here on the ground. Eventually, though, you reach it. It’s hideous to look at, from the front, swarming with colors of different competitors, their emblems and swirling dragons.

People of all kinds of physical appearance wander around. Jade enters fearlessly, stepping up between a very short, almost bluish pale man, and a very tall person of indiscriminate gender and origin wearing a thickly plated helm. You follow, carefully avoiding a jagged and burnt-looking hole, as well as the tail of a bright rose dragon that whips out across your path. The road opens up once you pass the entrance, and there are less people once you get back toward what look like barns set up for lodging.

The camp seems to be separated into team racers, solo racers, and… obstacle course racers? You didn’t even know that was a category. The few beasts you see past that gate seem to be tough, fairly muscled, and predominantly ground-based. One in particular, emerald green and with massive feet, seems to retract her claws back into her skin as you pass. The claws are as long as you are tall, and the noise they make is audible to you even thirty feet away. She has two mouths. It makes you nauseous. You look back to Jade’s back.

Soon you reach one of the sets of lodgings in the team racer section. It’s bannered with familiar colors and sigils, and you feel a well of anticipation bubble into your throat.

“Boys!” Jade calls out, a hand cupped around her mouth, and a blond head sticks out of the front of a building. His hair’s gotten long since you last saw him, and flops over his head as he rushes out. He’s not wearing anything besides pants and his tall racing boots, and clearly the season has done much for his physique. It’s easy to notice that Dirk has been upping his physical endurance, with the way his muscles are standing out of his arms.

Dave runs to Jade and wraps her in a hug.

“I can’t believe you’re back already, not like we didn’t see you a couple of days ago!” He says, but he’s clearly glad to have company. It must be the adrenaline from exercise and all of the work making him so excited.

“But I thought you were gonna bring Karkat today,” he’s saying now, holding Jade by her upper arms while she laughs, and you frown.

“I’m right here, asshole,” you snap at him, crossing your arms.

And there he is, your closest fucking friend, finally recognizing you.

His red eyes widen and a huge grin spreads across his mouth.

“I know my skin’s gotten darker, and you’re not that smart, Strider, but I don’t look that different,” you complain again, still frowning, even as he runs to you and takes you into a very enthusiastic embrace.

He smells like sweat and dirt, and he spins you clumsily before squeezing so tight you think you might not breathe again.

“Your skin is so dark I hardly recognized you! Been spending a lot of time on the beach without me?” He asks, stepping back. There’s a brief commotion, what sounds like a stack of metal cookware toppling, and Aradia is sprinting from the door of the building. She jumps around you and Dave in circles, twisting in the air a few times. It makes enough of a breeze that you start to fall forward again. Dave catches you with a warm hand to your shoulder.

“And you’re not using your cane or limping at all anymore! When did that happen?!” He’s exclaiming, as Aradia seems to calm down a good deal and nuzzles up to your side, shoving her nose under your arm. It amazes you that she’s so happy to see you, so much so that you almost forget to respond.

“The tan is from hard work, Strider, not that you would know what that is,” you gripe at him, and he laughs.

“Oh man did I miss you,” he says, and he’s stepping forward to hug you again. “You’ve gotten even grouchier. Finally I’m seeing the real you.”

The past few minutes have felt like they went by faster than a drop of rain falls from the sky, but when you step into the second hug, it slows down.

You hadn’t hugged him much _if at all_ before, but why not? His arms wrap around you tight, and you forget about the stress of being in this unfamiliar place with all these unfamiliar people. Jade says something to your left, but you can’t hear it. Only Dave’s heartbeat, so steady and constant, and his presence. He calms you down so well.

A piece of fabric hits Dave in the back of the head, and the moment is over. Ready to give whoever it was a piece of your mind, you rear back and step around Dave, mouth open to scold and yell. It’s Dirk, standing there, a slight smirk on his face but still clearly trying to be stern.

“Put your fucking shirt on in public, Dave. You’re gonna put an eye out,” he scolds, and Dave is turning entirely red before hastily pulling the fabric apart. It’s a sleeveless shirt from the look of it, and he shoves it over his shoulders before he has to face any more complaints from his brother.

“Tie it up, now,” Dirk prods, and Dave gives him an obscene gesture with one hand, defiantly not even touching the laces that line the slit from just above his abdomen. Dirk laughs, and walks over to the four of you. You take his outstretched arm and shake it from the wrist, and he does the same with a good nod. “Good to see you, Vantas,” he says, and then laughs at Dave one more time before retreating into the building from whence he’d come.

“I can’t talk for long, but you should come inside! I wanna catch up, your letters are awful,” he tells you, slinging one arm around your shoulder. He still smells like sweat, and you push him off more for that reason than anything else you could possibly conceive.

“Wash up before you touch me again, Strider,” you tell him, and he laughs again as you follow him inside, Jade already having gone in with Dirk. Aradia circles you as you go into the building, and it’s good to be around your friends again.

“And don’t even talk about my letters, your writing is atrocious.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I drew dave's ceremonial garb from chapter five if anyone is interested![ here! ](http://royalrastafariannaynays.tumblr.com/post/145317306485/dave-from-my-fic-in-name-and-in-deed-in-his) sorry for the bad quality!**
> 
>  
> 
> also a rly cool dude (kaarkles on tumblr) drew my karkat in UNIFORM!!!!!! [ HERE! ](http://royalrastafariannaynays.tumblr.com/post/144798498925/kaarkles-i-really-like-your-fic-and-i-really)
> 
> I'm BAAAAAAAAAACK everyone!!!! and hoooo-eeeeee-boy im having a great time readjusting to the pollen in the air where i live! I feel awful! 
> 
> ANYWAYS I'll probably post another chapter on sunday, as a present to y'all cause I was gone for so long, but I'm not sure cause I got Dallas Fan Expo this weekend! so it might be monday! 
> 
> anyways I love you guys, I hope you liked the chapter, and if you're interested in seeing pics from my trip, check my travel tag at royalrastafariannaynays.tumblr.com/tagged/marles-takes-a-very-green-vacation !! There are a bunch of cool pics in there, and I also put some ref photos up in my in name and in deed tag in my blog too, that I took while on my trip! 
> 
> As always I love feedback and I love hearing from y'all cause it helps me get better and keep writing! 
> 
> peace out, hasta luego!


	20. EPISODE 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A race is watched, a voice is heard.

“You should go visit Captor! He’s your friend, right? I’m sure he could make time in his busy schedule for you beyond just an awkward greeting.”

Jade calmly looks on as you proceed to choke on your forkful of whatever rice dish she’d gotten her cook to make for you. Her cook is not, in fact, the doll-maid, which you figure is for the best. Non-autonomous beings making food sounds like a recipe for disaster.

It’s the morning before the big race, and you were already fearing the day before Jade mentioned Sollux. You have to see the Queen today, when you and Jade sit in her high box for the main events, and someone managed to get for you a finely tailored set of clothes that would make you fit in better with her court. Wearing them would make you uncomfortable enough without the added malaise of facing the woman toward whom you both owe a great debt and have a healthy amount of fear.

Not seeing Sollux was actually a conscious decision you’d made after leaving Dave’s company two days previous. Of course, the decision didn’t entirely work out when you saw him across a courtyard that very night as you and Jade wandered into a small crafts-people’s market.

 

* * *

 

Just as you passed a stand covered in ornate silks, you heard a baby cry out with amusement, and a very familiar voice uttering the barest of hushing noises. Of course you looked toward the source of the noise, cold pooling in your gut.

Sollux was with his brother, who was speaking very loudly and a little stuttered to a woman. A woman who was smiling kindly and cutting up a piece of fruit for both the brother and the child on Sollux’s knee. The child kicked stubbornly in the water of the fountain upon which they sit. A happy little family. There was an infant in the woman’s arms that burbled aggressively at who you knew to be Mituna. You could tell instantly that the unfamiliar woman was Sollux’s wife. 

Her hair was honey-colored and beautiful in that courtyard, a sharp contrast to Sollux’s dark featues. Their family was beautiful, as well. It filled you with anger in that courtyard. Not with jealousy for them having him when he had been yours, no, but anger at everything else for giving you the rawer end of the deal. Why couldn’t you have a happy little life like that? They were clearly comfortable, with the way they dressed and how plump the child was. It ached at something within you.

Sollux looked up and met your eyes, and you felt yourself fill with dread. He hadn’t seen you either, apparently, and he openly stared at you where you stood clutching a very unfortunate strip of ribbon.

The dread wasn’t aimed directly at him. It wasn’t aimed at what he’d done, or why, or even the event that caused the rift between the two of you. It’d been months, after all. It’d been months, and your dread at the moment was directed almost inward, at the potential of doing something to fabulously injure your friendship even further. 

Before you could stop it happening or try to leave, Jade was perking up and yanking you in the direction of that same fountain. You wondered briefly, manically, about her sanity.

“Captor!” She shouted, gaily, and Sollux finally looked away from your eyes. His face went carefully blank, and then genial, a practiced motion you recognized from dealing in politics. 

“Harley. It’s good to see you again,” Sollux said. A bead of sweat dripped down his temple, and the twist of his mouth went just so as he barely leaned back. _He’s uncomfortable, as well, then._

Your old friend’s wife looked up, and his brother fell silent. Having met Mituna before, you recognized it as discomfort at not knowing Jade. The man looked briefly to you, and he smiled a little, tossing a small wave in your direction. You nodded back to him, and Mituna went right back to studying the fruit in his hands with the concentration one might give battle plans. 

Sollux’s wife’s face burst into a bright smile, and she lowered the infant to sitting on her lap. 

“Miss Harley! To what do we owe this honor?” She asked, beaming, only giving you a cursory glance that lingered just barely on where the gears showed beneath your pant cuff. 

You remember feeling sick, then.

Sick with anger, sick with jealousy, but mostly sick with guilt. Guilt at your relationship with Sollux. Guilt at, in the past few months, your wavering consideration of allowing yourself to have feelings for her husband again. Consideration only made in the dark of night before you fell asleep, when the cold seemed lonelier than was bearable. Guilt at his hands on you, the spell he was under only working fully because of your lingering affection. 

You daren’t look at Sollux, now. 

The child in his lap asked loudly who you and Jade were, and Sollux gave pause. His mouth worked strangely for a moment before something shuttered in his eyes. 

“They’re old friends, Ibrahim,” he said softly, gaze flickering back up to you. And, without warning, he held his hand out. You took it, and the palm was so warm. There was the same apology in his eyes from before. “I’ve just forgotten to write, so they came to see us.”

Sollux didn’t ask what you were doing in the city. He probably figured it out already; he was an intelligent man. 

He took his hand back.

“In fact, I… said something mean, and one of their friends got a little bit too mad at me the last time I visited them. The man who came to visit yesterday and stayed for tea. You remember him, right?” Sollux’s attention was fully glued to the child in his lap, then. 

“The dragon man!” The child exclaimed. And it made a bell chime in your head. Dave had gone to visit Sollux?

“Yes, the dragon man. He apologized for getting mad at me, that’s why he was there. I apologized too, for the mean thing I said. But since I said it to his friend, it didn’t mean as much,” Sollux said to his son. All of that conversation was for your benefit. And you didn’t know how to feel about it. On one hand, Dave went back and apologized again. On the other, Sollux did, as well. 

When you glanced over, Sollux’s wife was occupied with Jade, holding out the baby for her to take. It always has amazed you how women can be so friendly to each other, even if they can’t have known each other that well. Jade did just that, happily, lifting the child above her head and spinning it around. Sollux’s wife laughed, and it sounded like bells chiming. When you looked back to your old comrade-in-arms, he was trying to grin at you. His son had gone back to being amused by the water, less interested in words. 

“I’m sure his friend forgives you,” you say, and there it is. Sollux’s grin spread, and relief washed over his façade. 

And you had to go, then. Jade handed the baby back, and you took the opening. “We don’t want to keep the cook waiting,” you told her, nodding at Sollux and his wife. 

Jade looked confused for a moment, but very obviously didn’t say a thing about your odd behavior. It hadn’t been near time enough for the cook to have dinner ready, as Jade tended to eat late. She went with you, anyway, shaking hands with Sollux, and leaning down to give his wife a brief hug.

His eyes looked forlorn when you turned and tugged Jade back to the entrance. But you don’t care. You can’t care. 

You won’t do that to his wife. Or his children.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t believe that's a wise idea, Jade,” you’re telling her, back at the table after you finish trying to breathe again.

She gives you an odd look, but doesn’t press it, instead opting to take a full bite of her own meal.

The time since you saw Dave at his camp has been full of time with her. You wouldn’t go so far as to say you’re close, but maybe you could be considered friends. Yesterday, she walked with you to the truly gargantuan Cathedral of Light in the city center with its singing vaults and magnificent skylights, and then right over to the Grand Library where you quietly walked around and perused some of the old shelves you remember frequenting before.

That time, it was Jade’s charms jingling along instead of some nameless witch’s, and her voice was soft as she filled the silences you made with her casual chatter about the city, her job, and the goings-on.

The same day, because you weren’t too tired, Jade took you to the Royal Arboretum. From the outside, it seemed a hulking white building with little to no trees in sight, but once you entered, the area exploded with life and sound. It was beautiful. As a royal witch, she got you in easily, and had someone sent for tea. The inside walls of the building showed the outside plainly, as if the entire thing was made of glass. There were small animals and rabbits running around inside, and the air was full of the chatter of many tropical birds.

Jade is a wonderful hostess. She seems to understand when you need air after being in the city and crowds for too long, feeds you well, and seems to simply enjoy your company.

“We’ll leave to head to the stadium in half an hour, is that alright with you?” She asks, and you nod, finished with your food. Your chair screeches as you get up, and it makes you wince even as you push it back in.

Jade is already dressed for the day; she didn’t need to change much, but she’s wearing her formal witch robes anyway. She said the princess will be there, and dressed the same way, so you assume it’s a simple formality for where you will be sitting.

When you get back to your room, you find that the maid has laid out your newly-given clothing on the bed. If it meant anything to thank her, you would, but instead you just push yourself into the silks that have been afforded you. You have been given a pair of loose pants, one leg shorter with a cinch at the bottom to accentuate the metal leg. When you move the pants, you find a long black robe with red lines that spear down the sides, and scattered gold sun accents that you suspect are made from the precious metal itself.

On the floor next to the bed sits one shiny black boot with a soft sole and heel.

It’s a lot. Thankfully, it also comes with a deep cherry leather belt that you can fasten around your midsection, to look less like a eunuch or a member of the clergy. The whole ensemble is easy to put on by yourself, especially with your leg, which is a relief, but it definitely isn’t something you’re used to wearing. The dark colors will make you look forbidding. Even with the finely-made red shirt to go underneath, you will intimidate the elites.

And you will be fashionable, as long belted robes seem the style of the day.

When you arrive downstairs, fastening your smaller pouch to your left hip, Jade claps her hands a few times. “I knew those colors were a good idea when I bought them!” She exclaims, and you can’t help but scowl, knowing it was her money spent.

“I look like the undertaker, Harley. Besides, I already have a set of formal attire. I couldn’t just wear that?” You ask, letting her walk up to you and smooth out the shoulders and adjust the cuffs that end in scarlet folds at your wrists.

The dragon emblem on your chest, and the charm bag, both shift when she reaches to unbutton your shirt so that it splays open more. Swatting her hand away, you growl, “I’m not some man who needs to puff his chest out to prove himself.”

She laughs. “It’s the style, trust me. Besides, your emblem makes you look tough enough.”

“Won’t it and the charm bag give me away? I thought I was trying to be subtle about who I am here, especially if I were to be around nobles. Which I am,” You state, looking just slightly up at her. You’d forgotten just how tall she was, and when she’s right up next to you, it’s painfully obvious that it wasn’t just you being on crutches that made her tall to you in your first meeting.

“The charm I put on your face will take care of that. If they harbor ill will, they will forget just what it was that they saw. Simple,” she states, and finishes with her primping. Your hair is curly and loose in its current length, as you had let your mother get Kanaya to cut it in the previous week, and you hear her tsk softly before internally declaring it a lost cause. “It’s a blessed thing that your black curls are wavy enough to look good no matter what,” she mutters, and you shoot her a wry look, just barely a grin.

 

* * *

 

Before you know it, you’re ascending the last few steps toward the Queen’s box.

The attire of those around you makes you glad that you wore what Jade bought. The colors are uncommon, and they garner you some significant looks, but no one looks down at you. Your common blood isn’t obvious in these silks, and just by glancing at the other race-goers you can see that yours are well made and even enviable in their quality. Who did Jade intimidate to get these?

Your leg gets a few looks, some impressed, some doubtful, even though the metal contraption is concealed for the most part beneath the calf-length black robe. After the first person openly stares at you, you settle for what you call your “colonel” face, the rigid mask of power and stoicism that had many of your new recruits, regardless of rank in society, squirming in their line. Your hand sitting on the hilt of your dagger definitely helps, as well.

All of that hubbub is forgotten, when you finally reach the Queen’s box. There are several court nobles sitting in when you and Jade pass the guards, and there are two open seats just to the right of the Queen herself, though much lower in height to both her, and the throne to her left, which houses none other than the crown princess.

The Queen looks at you as you near her, familiarity flickering in her eyes. She can see you, then. So she intends you no real harm… yet. You round in front of where she sits, leaning on one curled fist, her long nails sharper than should be possible. She wears a great amount of fuchsia, cascading robes over a skin-tight black suit with the same fuchsia accents. Gold covers her arms and fingers, spills down from her neck and around her massive head of hair that seems to almost take up more of the throne than she.

The Queen is beautiful, and only and unwise or blind man would think otherwise. When you had been so young, her supple thighs had taunted you from where they emerged from the slits in her gown, and you had been weak. Now, you see it for what it is: a power play, and a very smart one. As so many rulers and dignitaries are men, she is a woman, and every facet of that is played to her advantage.

A solid weight settles onto you, a wall of hatred and yearning for better rolling through you in waves. Jade walks before her, curtsies, and takes her hand to kiss it with a small laugh. She turns to her seat. Her Imperial Condescension turns on you, then, just with her head, but you feel this entire part of the stadium stare heavily in your direction.

So much she has done to you. You have not seen her in person since before the ambush, and your throat boils. Here she sits, sending you a stipend, examining your new leg with a critical eye, ‘requesting’ that you sit with her, in this box, on display. On her side. No one in this stadium knows who you are, anymore. Precious few will recognize your face, but many more will recognize your name. She definitely does.

You remember how she handed the ceremonial sickles to you, and almost wish she had taken them around your throat the night of your meeting.

You bow, and kneel to one knee. “Your Majesty,” you say, softly, carefully not making eye contact.

“Colonel Vantas. What a pleasure it is to see you. How interesting are the friends that Jade Harley keeps,” she hums, and you take the hand she offers. You kiss the crown ring in an absurdly familiar gesture despite only having done it once before, and allow her back her hand.

“Yes, your Majesty,” you say right back, with all of the restraint you can muster.

A small, satisfied smile finds her lips, and she knows that you know that you both understand just what her invitation meant. She does not care about your well-being except for it being a purely political move. You move to your seat, placing Jade between the two of you, and you can finally breathe. The Queen does not speak to you for the rest of the event.

The first race is the obstacle course race, and you find yourself too focused on remaining calm to pay much attention to it. The girl with the dragon with the incredible claws wins that one, and you find yourself unsurprised. Next comes the solo racers, and the course is interesting enough and you’ve calmed enough to see at least what happens. The applause is raucous in the stadium, and people are on their feet egging the dragons on as if they have a personal life stake in the proceedings.

It wouldn’t surprise you if they did.

In the races, there are big dragons, small dragons, dragons with large mouths and hanging jaws, dragons with wide faces and beaks like birds. Dragons with translucent wings and wings made up of massive feathers that ripple delicately in the wind. You have yet to see any of the thin serpent breed that Dave and Dirk have, but you do see a twin pair that look like Equius, scaled with gentle shades of yellow and purple. They shine with oil. It strikes you that the species might be a local one, with how close Skaia is to the ocean.

Finally, there are pairs. You see them, clad in the same garb they had been when you first saw them, the twin riders on the ribbons of dragons that sail sportingly through the air to their starting point. The Queen’s box is right on the starting line, and you see her lean forward out of the corner of your eye to look at the dragons on the ground.

“There are two here from your home town, yes, Jade?” The Queen asks her, and Jade chimes back an affirmative.

“Then I should hope they win, yes? They’re talented athletes?” She asks, and you find yourself looking in her direction. What is she playing at?

Jade nods again and chirps another happy affirmative, and the Queen relaxes back into her chair.

That was… strange.

Soon, half of the riders peel off from the group toward a different part of the arena. They will be riding in a circle with a few tall obstacles to get around, but speed is obviously the name of the competition here. The group has a particular dragon in it, and as it passes the Queen’s box, you catch a small wave from her rider. You wave back at the ruby serpent and her partner, sending them both positive thoughts that you hope Aradia can hear and will pass on to Dave.

With a cannon shot, the race begins.

Unlike nearly a year before, the sound of the cannon does not knock you out of reality. It unsettles you, yes, but ultimately results in you feeling just greatly nauseous and slightly jolted. It’s an improvement you don’t notice until you see Damara shoot like a starling from the flock of racers, quickly gaining a lead alongside a couple of others. Her speed is matched by only three other dragons, and you can tell that all the hard training has paid off.

Though, the sport seems more complicated now than it was in the village. There are hoops going out from a few tall pillars, and each of them sounds a gong when pierced by a rider. You suppose this is another way of gaining points. Damara’s lithe form easily twists through the smaller hoops, not having to go out of her way for the larger ones. It’s fascinating.

The Queen’s box is placed just so that you can see it when the first rider hands off the long baton to the second. Dave grabs it from Dirk an immediately he’s in the lead. Aradia quickly outleagues the other racers, twisting around them and curling through hoops, and she’s going even farther than Damara, it seems. She is getting less hoops, but she and Dave are more than two seconds from your point of view away from the nose of the next rider.

And before you know it, they’re across the finish line, and the crowd is on their feet.

_They won._

Jade is pulling your arm, and you’re following her quickly down the stairs after the Queen waves you off. The Queen being so lenient doesn’t even strike you as odd as you try to quickly follow Jade, having more trouble with the steps due to your leg. She slows down and waits for you at the bottom, and the two of you end up sneaking out onto the race track. Dave is already running toward the flap of fabric you spring out of, and he grabs you up into a hug.

He swings you around in his arms, hooting loudly, then drops you and does the same to Jade. Dirk is there, patting him on the back, and he spins Dirk as well, to his brother’s chagrin. There’s a lot of laughing, you think you crack a smile, and then an official is grabbing you and Jade by the shoulders and escorting you from the ring, saying that “we must have the proper ceremony here”.

“We’ll meet back at my place!” Jade calls, and as you wave to Dave, who’s preoccupied with giving his brother the most spectacular noogie ever witnessed. Aradia and Damara are circling each other, flames and ice drooling from their mouths with the excitement. It’s all so much.

A few of the other riders are on the ground now, giving the boys their congratulations. On the way out of the stadium, in a large area, you pass by a girl with bright red glasses over her eyes, who doesn’t look at anything in particular, but has a shark-like grin on her face. Behind her is a girl with a similar grin. They are flanked by turquoise and aquamarine dragons, and something about that, about them, feels… familiar?

“Karkat!” A masculine voice calls to you, and your head whips around. Of course.

Egbert almost pounces on you, skipping to a stop after swinging himself from Equius’s back. John nearly claps a hand on your shoulder before you scowl at him, and he retracts the hand. He must be here to see Dave. Was he watching the race from the air, maybe?

“Wow, you came all this way to see Dave!” He nearly shouts in your nearest aural cavity, and you grimace at him.

“A change of scenery does a person well, Egbert,” you tell him, nodding, and Jade walks up beside you.

“Hey John!” She says. “If you’ve got time, I’m hosting a celebratory dinner at my home this evening for Dave and Dirk!”

John looks at her with a critical eye. “Will it have pumpkin in it?” He asks, lips curling around a smirk, and you see Equius poke his head up in your periphery. Do dragons like pumpkin?

Jade reaches out and punches him in the shoulder. “Yes, you clod,” she teases, and smiles toothily. John smiles the same way, and you catch yourself wondering if they’re related just by the joyful overbite. The notion sounds familiar, but you can’t be too sure. Past John’s left side, you see the two girls from before staring at you three.

You give the sighted one a firm glare, and she glares right back. There’s something… strange about her left eye, but you can’t quite tell from here. It moves around, glancing to and fro, and you can feel that same prickle across your forehead that you felt so many months ago when you last really spoke to Rose Lalonde.

It seems like a good idea to look away, then, so you do. She seems confused for a few seconds, before turning to her red-glassed friend, and turning her by the shoulder. The girl with the red glasses is wearing a red surcoat with teal stripes and a teal bodysuit underneath, and when she turns, you can see a leather hood lined with stiff spikes that mimic the form of the dragon next to her.

Is that… the girl from the first race, a year ago?

You’re about to make a move to speak with them, but Jade is tugging you in the opposite direction. You’ve gotten so used to her touch in the past several days that it doesn’t even make your skin itch anymore.

“We’re going to head back to beat the crowd, and get dinner started!” Jade says. “I’ll send you a message when we’re ready for you all to head over! Tell Dave and Dirk that we have room for a few more, if they want to bring friends!”

You move with her, pivoting on a heel. Your black robe sweeps gracefully as you turn, and maybe you’ll have to keep this one. It’s nice, and doesn’t remind you of your military history. You do look alarmingly like your father in it. John waves the two of you off, and you agonize over the lost few seconds spent thinking vainly about your wardrobe before following Jade into the busy streets.

Immediately upon departure you go back to thinking about the race.

Dave and his brother, they were on fire with excitement. You hadn’t seen Dave looking happier, and his arms had felt wonderful around your waist when he lifted you like you weighed nothing. He’d done the same with Jade, and his brother, and you had to wonder just how strong he’d become, or if it was just adrenaline.

The midday sun beats down on your shoulders, not hot but pleasantly warm with the passing patches of shade and the breeziness of Skaia. Those two riders at the stadium. They were the Striders’ competitors from that first race, so long ago. The girl with the red glasses. She had seemed to not be looking at anything, is she the blind rider that Dave told you so much about? What was her name? It started with a ‘T’. Teresa? Tabitha? You had no idea about the other rider. The only thing you knew about her was that Dave didn’t like her all that much. Apparently she wasn’t a very kind person.

Jade is chattering about the race, the events, and the riders, when you feel it.

That pulling, stronger than ever before. It strains against your skull, yanking on your attention and almost sending you stumbling into a pedestrian walking in the opposite direction.

Jade gives you an odd look, for what feels like the seventieth time in four days. “Are you alright?” She’s asking, and it’s like it’s through a fog.

“Karkat?” She sounds concerned. “Why have you stopped?”

And… she’s right. You’ve stopped in front of a large tunnel that leads stairs down into the sewers of the city. You can smell the water from here, the unmistakable dankness of wet and rot. The pull happens again, and it’s like a hangman’s knot on your neck, suffocating you. It lessens with one pace toward the tunnel.

A weak voice cries out to you. It feels inexplicably familiar. Like an old friend, or a pair of shoes that you had forgotten about, dark and dusty and full of spiders.

It chokes you again, and you take another step. It lessens.

“Karkat!” Jade yells.

You’re running down the steps before you can stop yourself.

_Please_

You must find it. You need to find it. The owner of that voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOOK at this awesome fanart of the [rider and the red noodle!!!!!!](http://royalrastafariannaynays.tumblr.com/post/145434756415/i-drew-some-dragon-rider-dave-from-in-name-and-in) And more of [Dave](http://royalrastafariannaynays.tumblr.com/post/145400165185/poyitjdr-i-had-to-try-to-draw-your-fancy-dave) with his ceremonial stuff but from the front!!! Also fanart!
> 
> Karkat's race day outfit is shamelessly based off of Oberyn Martell's [yellow robes](http://www.3dcliffe.com/wp-content/uploads/oberyn_breakdown_01.jpg) from Game of Thrones! (with the color change obvs) (Oberyn my beautiful bisexual love you went too soon)
> 
> HEY y'all sorry for coming in just under the cut of the day!! Had a TERRIBLE morning energy-wise and other-wise and didnt get the chap posted up till LATE! But it's here! I'm gonna go back to a weekly schedule I think, because I'm running out of backlogged chapters to post. So! There's some fun stuff coming up next week and I hope y'all like it!
> 
> I was thinking about doing something special for the 200 kudos mark on this fic, but I'm not sure what, feel free to let me know!
> 
> As always I love feedback, and I hope everyone has a wonderful week and has been having a beautiful summer besides!


	21. EPISODE 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat finds the source of the voice.

_Please_

You run down into the tunnel. Jade screeches in panic, and you can hear her sprint to follow you.

It doesn’t cross your mind why she’s not using magic to stop you; you just need to find that voice.

“Karkat, wait! It’s not safe down there! Come back!” She yells, and it echoes eerily off of the walls as your firm footsteps carry you down. The full ability of the leg is put to use as it easily switches weight and gear along the joints, easing you into a sprint that you haven’t tried to do or maintain in more than a year.

“KARKAT!” She’s yelling, and she’s falling even further behind. The pull drives you forward. You hear the buzz of magic behind you, and get the feeling that Jade has started teleporting to keep up. Subtle flashes glance off the walls around you as you round corner after corner, following the pulling to where it feels the strongest.

_Please help me._

“Karkat!”

_Please._

You sprint down several flights of stairs. You’re used to your leg enough now that this is easy, simple, to catch all of your weight on one leg and bend the knee just so. It’s instinct to vault over the railing to reach the lower flight faster.

It feels like you descend forever, into the deepest, dampest part of the city, following the silent cries. You pass by a tunnel that emits a great windy noise, and you can see where it exits out the side of the flying island, a fan separating the air outside from in. The air current almost carries you out, but you push past it.

Urchins hiss as you pass, several muddy trolls hide in the damp, and you easily sprint past a few great slugs wallowing in the filthy wastewater. It smells absolutely fetid, and the running water of the sewer does nothing to curb the noise of bubbling rot coming from the more stagnant pools.

Over all else, though, you hear a great caucus down one path, and begin ascending. An endless set of staircases awaits you, and the pulling increases dramatically. Jade rushes up behind you, trying to cling onto the back of your shirt, but you won’t relent, can’t relent. You round a corner and hear a yowling roar of a wounded animal.

A massive animal. A manticore’s scream. You’ve only heard it once before.

Jade catches you, then, slamming you up against a wall to stop your running.

“Karkat, what in the world is wrong with you?! Come on. We don’t need to be down here, and it’s not safe for you,” she begs, holding you against the wall with one splay of her hand. As if a great weight is pinning you down, you can’t move, and you get the feeling that she’s exercising her more invisible abilities to get you to cooperate.

The yell of a man, a human man, shocked and maybe hurt, echoes, and the roar sounds again.

“It’s pulling at me, Jade, I can feel it,” you say to her, beg her, and your vision blurs with how hard the force is pulling on your mind.

 

_Please, I ask, please._

 

Jade moves back from you, yet you still cannot move. Her ring fingers glow, and she frowns at you. It’s a suspicious frown, and a frown that shows how much she regrets not seeing this coming. It can’t be harmful magic with your charm, though, can it?

The witch whisks around the corner away from you, and you hear another, much different screech. This sounds like another creature entirely. The floor vibrates under your feet as something stomps its great feet. Jade comes back, her face very blank. A practiced blankness. A focused blankness. She waves the hand, and her hands cease to glow.

“Try to be calm. Act as I do. We have been trying to find this for a long time… _colonel,”_ she says, the last part edged in a tone that tells you that she needs you to be alert, and act as your training would have you act. “The queen will want to know. I sense a magic in there that is… aimed at you. Somehow.”

She gives you a very disapproving frown, and you go still as she swipes a hand over herself. When the hand comes away, she is without the ears atop her head, her skin has lightened, her tattoos are gone, and she is wearing the casual dress of a noblewoman of the south seas, just-married.

The old battle calm sets in. Your fingers shake once, twitch, and you clench them. Now is not the time for nerves. If Harley is disguising herself, you will need to be the accurate Karkat, the stoic Karkat, the war-burnt Colonel Karkat Vantas. Not the man who is fighting the pull in his head. The pull that feels like it wants to peel your very skin to ribbons just to get you there.

As your back straightens, Jade looks on you, almost pitying. It’s wiped clean, in favor of something flightier. Something affected, something... not Jade. She takes your arm, and leads you around the corner. You don’t even try to take your arm away from her, although you would much rather be without it touching you at all.

 

It’s… you straighten.

 

A room full of beasts.

 

The tether on your mind snaps, and you’re left with the loose end of whatever had been holding it.

 

Most of them are caged. Several are not. The room is littered with spells, crystallized reinforcements and anti-tracking charms bled into the walls and wedged into the corners of iron-barred cages. The ceiling and the walls of the cages are etched with runes, and it soon becomes apparent why.

Half of the occupants are dragons. There are a few adolescent manticores among them, several giant boar, a cage full of wolves with purple fire dancing on their skin… a single unicorn, losing its light in the dark of the cage. But… the dragons. One of them looses a blue flame into the air, and a few very wealthy-looking men standing nearby gasp.

The dragon is wrestled into a muzzle, and you can’t watch. Their horns are caught by a pair of strong arms, and their head is slammed to the ground while the muzzle is wrenched over its face. A long, sharp tooth chimes as it glances off of the ground, some two yards away as it is wrenched out by the edge of the muzzle. You might be sick. The runes on the cages are to keep the dragons from using their telepathic abilities. To call for help, to harm their captors, whatever it may be.

 

Who would do such a…

 

 _Focus,_ Jade whispers in your head.

Right. This is clearly something that’s been going on for a long time, if the organization and the ruts in the floor are any indication. They have twenty guards at a first glance, all armed. You tell Jade as much. “We thought we shut these down years and years ago,” Jade whispers to you, as she clings to your left arm and walks you into the room. Why are you putting forward these flimsy disguises? What is the point?

“Obviously not,” she finishes, and you see it.

There, in the center of the room, is a cage larger than most of the others. Inside it sits…

 

 _Hello, small one._ His weak voice barely bridges the connection.

 

“Kankri,” you choke.

 

Your military resolve is broken. Before it could even entirely shield you.

Jade is glancing between you and the great black dragon, and she must understand that there’s a deep connection, because after several seconds of weighted silence, she sighs very dramatically and begins leading you to the cage.

“That one, right? …dear?”

You can’t speak, you can only walk and scramble to cover your loosened disguise and feelings. Jade squeezes your arm. “Let’s get him out!” She says.

It’s a little louder than you would recommend, but you can only feel agreement. If you were in your right state, you would be taking her around the shoulders and rushing out. Discretion isn’t her strong suit, you can see that now.

“Excuse me,” a voice says, and you rip your eyes from him. From Kankri. Your fist wants to fly out and strike at him, you want to cry out, you want to simply cry. He is here, he is hurt, he is _Kankri._

“I don’t believe the two of you have an invitation,” says a man with a round belly and a badly affected accent. Smuggler, poacher. New money, childhood in the slums. His teeth say poverty and his cufflinks say good paycheck.

A room full of men and women is staring at you, all impeccably dressed in dark colors, discreet shades, half of them wearing masks over half or more of their faces. Several very threatening thugs come up behind the first man, and you start doing calculations in your head. How much would it take to fight them all and at least get Jade out alive? You are not supposed to be here. Out of the corner of your eye, Jade does something with her hands. The room of people turns away, as if not seeing you. The man in front of you blinks, as if confused. So do the thugs.

“Are you selling these dragons?” She asks, amicably, leaning heavily into you. She sounds… interested?!

About to lean down and ask her what she’s doing, you’re stopped by several sharp nails digging into your wrist.

He scowls. “I do believe I asked the two of you to _leave_ ,” he spits.

“Well, I have a good deal of money, and I’ve been looking for one,” she replies, ignoring his obvious threat with a wave of one hand. With the second wave, the thugs look even more confused, and the first man, most likely the host, blinks, bewildered. Then a smile smears, wicked, across his mouth. He is missing several molars.

“Well, for a lovely young lady such as yourself, we have several new riding dragons in. We also have a few small exotics, perfect for sprucing up a garden or sitting room,” he’s saying. The implications of the words make you feel like you’re going to throw up.

“I want… oh dear, honey, which one should I choose?” Jade says in a sing-song tone more fitting for requesting a particularly expensive ribbon from a high-end vendor. Her other arm joins the first, and she presses herself into your arm, leaning down to press a kiss into your cheek.

After a few beats of you not replying, she hisses, “Say it, fuckass,” into the curve of your ear, and you jump. It takes a second to stop choking on your own spit before you can answer, and by then, Jade is giving you an angry stare. You look at her in shock. What is she… playing at?

Does she condone this? No. There is a mighty fire in her eyes. These men are going either to the stocks or the noose. And from her eyes, the noose is preferable. That fire gives you strength to gather your wits. Yes. These men must pay, but first you must get out. You must save Kankri.

“The… the great black one,” you tell her, not able to put up enough of a façade to kiss her cheek as well, but hesitantly trying for your best in-love-and-very-rich expression. Jade has the gall to look mildly impressed before you continue. “With the neck like my late father’s warhorse,” you manage.

Jade grins, and turns to the man, giggling too loudly. “Yes, that one!” She squeaks, and you feel slimy for this charade. Fluttering her eyelids prettily, Jade produces a purse from seemingly nowhere that jingles more than a pouch should.

The man seems disgruntled by her choice, but seems eager to have that money in his hands.

“That one is… well, he’s very stubborn. And violent. He is also missing sight in both of his eyes due to an… accident,” he’s explaining. No accident at all, you imagine. Jade has started to lead you toward the large cage, and you had forgotten just how large Kankri was. His ebony night scales just barely shine in even this dark light, like a pool of pure dark oil opened up before you, and his chin tilts up beseechingly.

“But hubby wants that one! And he is quite handsome around the neck and color!” Jade argues, laughing lightly. The guards, obviously no longer concerned by the two of you, recede into the background and walk away.

“Miss, I don’t think you want that one,” the man tries again.

“My purse says otherwise!” she protests, and jingles the bag before him.

While she is negotiating, you near the bars of the great prison. Several women who were circling the cage walk away, leaving you alone. Only one of Kankri’s eyes is open, and it is not the rust red that you remember. It’s all white, truly blind, crusted with mucous and rimming with pale pink tears. He isn’t bloody, that you can see, but he winces when he edges toward the outer wall of the cage, toward you.

 

 _You found me, small one,_ he whispers to you, and it’s full of more relief than you could possibly imagine. You did. You found him. Your father’s dragon. Your father’s best friend. The dragon that was never found. Not expected to be found.

“How did you contact me? How did you know I was here?” You whisper to his blind eyes. His jaw is held shut by a brutal set of belts and buckles, and you want to kill something. Someone has… perverted your childhood.

_I am of strength of mind, small one, stronger than their traps. I am old and I am strong. I needed only wait, and I could feel you as soon as you came to the city._

“We’ll…” you hesitate, choke. “We’ll get you home.”

 _Thank you._ The dragon visibly sighs, the air seeping out in a surprisingly warm wave across your ankles. _It has been so long. I missed the brightness you carry. Though it has dimmed. What happened, small one?_

You stiffen. He seems to angle his head down, inhaling deeply through his cracked nostrils. A shudder goes through him, rattling the chains that hold his wings to his body. Can he smell the metal, or the lack of flesh? He is a fairly old dragon, at this point, like he said. You wonder when he was captured. More than ten years ago, your father was shot down. You are twenty-seven years old.

Kankri’s wiry muscles stand out against the scales, despite the restraints and obvious malnutrition. All four of his wings look to still have retained most of their strong membranes, despite being so painfully chained to his body. There’s an obvious, scarred rip in one of the upper wings. Will a healer be able to fix it? Maybe one of the village healers?

But he will not fly anytime soon, if ever again. His wings are broken, battered, twisted into lumps by the chains that hold them shut. Welts and callouses show around the leathers, dried blood marks the harshest chains. He used to fly the skies, fly them so beautifully, quickly, like the darkest night wind, the fastest dragon in the southern regions.

Your mouth fills with bile, and your heart with anger.

 

The village… Seahaven. What will mother think when you bring him home? You are planning on bringing him home, to you, after all. He will recover under your care. You can fix this. Surely mother will help to care for him. It’s Kankri, after all. He was part of your family, until you thought you had lost him forever.

 

 _I am tired,_ he whispers to you. It’s even more faint than before.

“I know,” you whisper back.

Jade is stepping back to you, boot-heels clopping on the floor as she rounds herself to your side. A slip of paper is in one of her hands, and the now-empty coin bag is in the other. The man who she had spoken to is leaning over a great pile on the desk, carefully counting each one. Does the bag hold entirely more than it seems? You wouldn’t put it past Jade.

“Come on, now, we have to let them move him outside. They have a secret vault entrance. I’ve sent a message to John, Dave, and Dirk. They’ll be here soon to help move him,” she tells you, coming up to you and pulling your arm. You come to standing, not even having realized that you were bending over so far.

 _I can walk, miss,_ Kankri says into both of your minds. _To assume otherwise is rather rude and presumptuous._

“We know you can, but you’re weakened and would rather not attract undue attention,” you reflexively tell him. There’s that familiar part of Kankri. He always used to be so picky about regarding others. This time, he seems to agree, however, letting his nose fall to the floor of the cage again. The next sigh he releases hits your ankles in a slightly warmer stream. That’s a good sign, right?

The traffickers cover the cage for you and get it outside, pushing and pulling it on a system of wheels, and using a team of oxen. Jade seems to make note of their locations and faces, studying them while they’re not watching. Soon enough, though, they disappear behind a flat brick wall, as if the secret entrance was only accessible from one side.

 

You sit close to the bars, feeling Kankri’s breath push and pull the canvas in the sun. His nose stays very close to you even when you move, keeping your scent in range.

Your chest hurts.

Egbert and the Striders arrive sooner than you thought they would. Dave nearly jumps to the ground from Aradia’s back. He’s panting, and still in his race uniform, and his face is so worried. He runs straight to you.

“Are you hurt? Jade’s message said you were in trouble and that’s it. What’s wrong?” He’s asking urgent question after urgent question, and one of his hands reaches out too excitedly to touch your face. It’s hard to move, and the touch makes your eyes feel hot and damp. Too gentle of a touch for what you’ve seen. You may have killed dragons in war, but you never… never tortured them. And what were those other beasts being sold for? The unicorn for its blood and hair? The wolves for their pelt? The dragons for their labor or scales?

Dave’s hand takes your lack of flinching as permission, and he delicately turns your chin as he checks your visible skin for injury. Why is he acting so close with you, so concerned?

Dave feels the puff of air on his legs, and stiffens. A dreadful look crosses his eyes and mouth, and his brow sets. Before he can do it, however, John is pulling back the covering of the cage. He covers his mouth at what he sees. Dirk’s lips twist into the most severe frown you’ve seen on his face, and if his visor was up, maybe you could see his eyes. Dave looks in, and immediately pushes John’s hand off the fabric, letting it fall shut. Jade has been quiet this whole time, tapping her foot and thinking.

“Who is this?” Dirk asks you.

“Kankri,” you croak, and you can just make out Dave’s red eyes sharpen behind his visor. They flicker from the canvas over the bars, to the emblem around your neck, and spark with agonizing realization.

To Dirk and John the name means nothing. But maybe you mentioned it to Dave, at some point. Maybe something in your tone gave the relationship away. But his hand leaves your skin, and he’s walking over to a wooden crate, and smashing it in with his fist. It comes away bloody, and Dave is fuming. The three other dragons are staring at the cage from a short ways off, seeming to focus in very hard on its contents. Kankri is not talking to them, then. He’s been very quiet since you got back out into the outdoors.

John holds up an arm like a weak shield to the chips that fly off from Dave’s outburst.

“Let’s get him to the tower,” Jade suddenly says, decidedly.

Three of the bands on her fingers light up when she touches the iron cage, and the cage becomes almost chameleon-like, blending roughly in with its surroundings. She hops onto Equius behind John, and you climb up behind Dave, and then the three dragons are grabbing the cage in their talons. It lifts with little struggle, and you’re surprised. It’s iron. Did Jade also make the metal light as air?

 

* * *

 

You all land in the courtyard just next to the fountain and pumpkin patch, and almost immediately the Striders are prying open the door. It makes an awful screeching, even after it’s open all the way, and John is tearing the tarp from concealing the cargo.

Kankri crawls out of his own accord, snout going first to test the way. His eyes unblinking, unseeing, shift beneath the white film and he knows that the door is ajar. It takes a minute or so of making sure it isn’t a trap, before he’s taking careful steps toward you. The Striders stay carefully out of his path as he creeps over to where you stand near where you dismounted Aradia. It’s in a large patch of sunlight and warm grass. You fall to your knees, not caring when the prosthetic protests the pressure enough to pinch your skin.

 

The great black dragon head presses into you. He forces you to sit, stubbornly pushing until you’re nearly prone. Just his head alone is bigger than the distance from your navel to your crown, and he eases it to rest just under your arm. The rest of him flops down into the grass. His entire starved body relaxes. He seems to relish the warmth of the sun as if he never thought he’d feel the light of day again.

In the sunlight, you can see harsh marks on his wrists that remind you of severe burns. They’re scars by now, but you cannot imagine how he must have walked. His black scales just barely glitter in the light, as well, just like you remember.

Kankri pulls his tail into himself defensively, removing it completely from the cage behind him, and curls it beneath his two left limbs.

Jade is doing something with the cage. Before you know it, it’s a tiny cube in her palm. She says something about going to notify her Majesty immediately, and departs. Aradia and Damara flutter to the ground next to Kankri. Together they begin to check him over. Kankri doesn’t seem to mind, and doesn’t protest it when they smell his sides, wings, and wounds. Equius is a little more polite, and simply sits and examines the black dragon from afar.

John mutters something crossly about fresh water and fresh meat, looking pained and disgusted, and Dirk barely has the time to say ‘small portions, soft white fish’ before John is shooting off into the evening across Equius’s back.

Dave and Dirk, meanwhile, are getting to work on removing the restraints. They walk over to Kankri, each offering him a confident hand and withdrawing it after he smells their skin, then huffs out a noise of confirmation.

 

There's a silence, and then...

 

“He’s been blinded,” Dave chokes out, from just next to you, and you hear Dirk curse under his breath from where you sit. You run a hand over Kankri’s nose, numb.

Dave trots around to the side, where Kankri’s wings are bound. He and Dirk cut at the leather joints between the chains, freeing one chain after another until both sides are free of the hard metal. Kankri makes a low noise of so much relief that you can practically feel it through your person. His great mutilated wingspan stretches, then, spreading carefully over the ground. Dave and Dirk, as well as their partners, move out of the way. The two sets seem to take them by surprise as the massive spans of black membrane are laid across the grass. The long, spiked fantail spreads as well, and Dave is standing there, mouth agape.

“Never seen a dragon with four wings…” he’s murmuring to Dirk, and then he jumps. His eyes lock onto Kankri’s head, and you get the feeling he’s communicating with him. If it was the old Kankri, he’d be getting a talk on not treating him like an oddity. You think of the lectures you had received and ignored in the past, and it’s not a fond memory. But Kankri is family.

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry. Thank you for letting me know,” Dave says, obviously trying to placate.

 

The muzzle is the last thing to go, slipped off by your own shaking hands. You get it off just as the brothers carry over a large tub between them, filled presumably with the glittering water from Jade’s well. The dragon’s jaw next to you stretches widely. You see missing teeth from his mouth, and hear the creak of the muscle. _Surely_ they didn’t keep the thing on all the time.

Kankri sniffs at the water, and lifts his head to drink deeply from the tub. Dave and Dirk immediately go to retrieve more water from the well, taking two buckets each. The dragon finishes his drink prematurely, and moves his head into your lap. So much like Aradia did, those months ago. The two younger serpents move to carefully put their snouts to his, for just a moment, before also moving to curl up at his side.

Thankfully, he relaxes into their weight next to him, stretching one wing to lay half over them in a gesture of companionship.

 

 _Thank you, small one,_ Kankri says into your mind. _Thank you so much._

“It’s Karkat, now,” you tell him.

_Alright, Karkat, if that is what you wish. You still carry my emblem, after all._

One claw comes toward you, and you have no idea how he finds it, but he manages to tap the too-familiar medallion through your shirt.

_Your father would have been proud. He loved you so. Until his last breath he loved you so. As do I._

It’s so much, it’s too much.

 

Kankri goes quiet from there, sighing into something like sleep. The warm sunshine must be too good for him to fight.

Dave and Dirk end up sitting down against a large tree some distance away, murmuring between each other and waiting for… something. It’s very obviously about you, or about Kankri. They’re tired from the day, and you feel absurdly guilty for ruining their victory before shoving it down.

You run a hand down Kankri’s snout. One of his wings curls up, and over you, shading you from the beating sun.

Despite everything else that happened in the day, you feel… safe.

 

No, not safe.

 

Everything is so sad.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL
> 
> LOOK AT THAT
> 
> ha hahaha
> 
> sorry i made kankri do that "lecturing" thing (even tho its very not overwhelming here) but it's one of my favorite things about his canon character. if ya wanna talk to me about it or why you dont like it or hear my terrible reasoning why I _do_ hmu on the tungle(TM)
> 
> as usual i love questions and comments and i hope everyone's having a great week! see you next sunday!
> 
> ((happy birthday babby spanch))


	22. EPISODE 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat brings him home.

While Kankri is sleeping, you are consumed by thought.

Warm sighs leave his nose, brushing across your navel under the topmost set of robes. The breaths bloom up your chest, ending on the underside of your chin. The very edge of the breath is sulfurous, cinder, unkindled flames and embers alike. It’s a comforting smell, in the end.

You must get him… home. Get him home, and safe, and in your care. You can fix this, fix this one thing, redeem – no. Wrong train of thought. This is about Kankri. His jaw flexes in his sleep, as if unused to the lack of restraint. One wingtip flicks, undisturbed in its swath of basking ebony and maroon. Dave and Dirk stopped talking about half an hour previous, seemingly finding an end to their conversation.

Only Dave is left outside, as if on watch leaning against that tree. Dirk has since gone in, probably for the meal you’ve put on hold. You think you recall the elder brother coming back out at some point to clean Dave’s fist of his self-inflicted wound, but after that, nothing.

You have plans to make.

Kankri must be taken home. He can stay in the barn. You’ll have it enchanted, or warded, no matter how much you must pay. You can help feed him and get his wounds healed, back to full health. Maybe he can fly again. Healers will be called, and arrangements will be made.

How will you get him there, though? You cannot honestly expect the Striders to be able to carry him, and he cannot fly. There is… the transportalizer. Yes. It’s well big enough to house Kankri and transport him, if he coils up. And his natural magic will surely enhance the quality of the spell. The door is certainly large enough to allow him entrance, and you can assist him with guidance to get up the stairs. Just a short rest, some food, and a short climb, and he should be ready to walk home with you.

He can live in the barn. You have yet to store anything in there, and it has plenty of room for a beast of his size. You’d already decided, but the justification makes you feel more in control.

Mother… you can’t even think about how she will feel.

Chancing a glance over at Dave, you see his brow furrowed as he looks on Kankri’s wings. Oh, if he could have seen Kankri. Flying as if he was powered by the desert sun, four wings pumping in the air to propel him forward at breakneck speed. He could block eclipse the light with their size.

The dragons of your father’s war needed to be strong, resilient and battle-worthy no matter what job they had. Messengers needed to be deadly and fast, heavily armored and ready for combat. It seems so long ago thinking of it, despite that particular war being only a decade past.

Kankri makes a deep, stuttering creaking noise not unlike the great cats of the western plains, and you feel him start to wake up.

As if on cue, John bursts over the side of the garden wall, and Equius drops a very large basket of white fish in front of you. Time for a meal.

 

 

* * *

 

 

You get through to the Lalonde mansion, though you seem to have been transported outside instead of in. The smell of the sea is so welcome to your senses after the time spent in the air. When you look at Kankri, his white eyes have widened to bulging, and his nostrils are flaring as he inhales the smells of the area.

_It has been so long since I last breathed this air._

The wonder in his words chills you, makes you shiver. His wings are folded to his back like a great crumpled tablecloth, and his tongue flicks out to taste the brisk afternoon. Claws tapping uncertainly on the wide stone patio before him, he appears frozen.

Jade had traveled ahead by her own means, to warn the Lalondes of your coming, and the sigil on the granite seems freshly cleaned. The lines have been filled carefully with salt. This must be what lies behind the sprawling mansion. It’s a miracle that they’d had it already, and you would wonder what else they used it for were it not for your attention being consumed.

Kankri seems unaffected by the transportation magic. You yourself feel nauseous, dizzy with vertigo, but you tamp it down. The dragon by your side leans out with his snout toward you, offering his neck to you to lean upon. You barely take the offer, knowing that his weakened strength is still fifty times your own.

Jade is walking around the two of you, checking you for anything amiss. She hurries you off the platform, as much as possible with Kankri’s lumbering. When you are both clear, she disappears again, leaving you standing with Roxy and Rose, who are standing a ways off and looking on with blank expressions. You feel like you should wait here until Jade gets back. Dave and dirk are coming back the same way, right? Though they needed to get their things, first.

“Are you feeling alright?” You ask Kankri softly, as you recover your senses and cease leaning on his great neck.

He seems to think for a moment, mouth contemplative and nostrils still flaring. The ocean smell is strong here. In the wind, his tail fan narrows and flattens, though he still curls the limb defensively to himself. Whatever caused that behavior escapes you, but the notion that he would need to protect his tail fills your throat with fire.

_I am well enough, Karkat. Who are the magic users here? They seem strong._

“They are Rose and Roxy Lalonde. They help watch over this village,” you reply to him.

_One of them is linked to a dragon. Distantly._

“Yes, her husband is the messenger from before. With the oily drake,” you inform him.

 _Ah, yes. The watertongue. One of the ones that helped._ Kankri’s thoughts quiet, and he shifts his wings against the breeze. He shuffles closer to you. _What interesting company you keep._ It’s a wry tone, with those words.

 _What is this place called, Karkat?_ He asks. Rose and Roxy have neared a little closer, and it’s apparent that neither of them have made mental contact with Kankri yet.

“Seahaven,” you reply. The girls stop, some ten feet away.

Roxy shuffles nervously after a beat of silence, and Kankri turns his head slightly toward them. 

“Hello,” She says, with a small bow. Rose curtsies, not speaking, and when her eyes widen you get the feeling that he’s communicating with her privately.

“Half similar, are we?” Rose murmurs, and then a small smile washes over her darkly painted lips. “Sadly, I leave the riding to my brothers. Yes, I know, you were simply stating facts, making a quip. Yes, I was doing the same. I excuse your weariness. Thank you for informing me.”

Kankri chuffs out a laugh, and turns his head back to a more forward position.

“Karkat Vantas,” Rose begins, stepping forward.

It strikes you a bit behind schedule that Rose would have Seen this happening. When you jerk your chin up, furiously finding her eyes, there is a dark weight lingering in their depths. It’s the kind of weight that you do not question.

“It had to happen this way. Or nothing would have happened at all,” is all she says. Her voice is not like before, seeming to echo on the very air in her lungs. A small, knowing smile finds her lips. The edge of it is grim, and even a little sad. It makes you feel like… there are things coming. Things that every possibility and choice ends at. Things that cannot be prevented.

Rose turns, and retreats toward the house. It feels like this is the last time you will truly speak with her for a long, long time. Her shawl glitters with an almost strange poetic finality.

The magic circle on the wide patio emits a high whining noise, almost like sharp stones are grating against one another. Sparks fly, and then Dave and dirk are standing steady in the center of the circle. Damara and Aradia are curled together behind them. Damara yawns. With a strange _pop_ , Jade appears next to you, from nowhere.

Dave runs up next to you just as Roxy retreats to check the stability of the circle, and stops in his tracks at the grim line of your mouth. Whipping his darkened visor back, he comes around to your front side.

“What’s wrong? You feeling bad from the transport? Jade told me everything was fine,” Dave asks. He’s been worrying over you a lot, these past days.

“Let’s get him home,” you reply, not answering the question. Dave needs to stop worrying over you for now. It’s strange. He draws back, jaw going tight. But he relents.

“Very well,” he says. He calls over to Dirk, to signal to him to take his things back to the Roost.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Arriving at the house is a quiet affair. Kankri seems so consumed by the sounds and smells, head turning just slightly from side to side at the chirping of birds, the bristling of the tall grass, and the buzzing of the winter beetles. It’s cold, here, but a fairly mild day for midwinter. It seems like it hasn’t snowed for at least a week, here, as you don’t pass any banks on your way to the house.

The great black dragon does almost catch you in the gut with a horn when he flinches violently away from a cold puddle, however.

There’s a figure emerging from the workshop toward the barn when you round the bend of the road. It’s your mother. Aradia barks a high note, galloping toward her from where she’s been patiently walking next to Dave.

Kankri comes to a slow stop. His head raises from where it’s been hung close to the ground, and you feel more than hear his sharp intake of breath. He is trying to desperately to see.

When you look back at your mother, she is twenty yards away, and Aradia is making cooing noises at her. A couple of charred sweet fish dangle from your mother’s hand, like she was preparing to throw them. She is staring, wide-eyed, at your father’s dragon. A smile is fading from her face, melting down into shock.

Mouth forming into a silent ‘oh’, she sinks to her knees.

The glitter of tears on her face is visible even in the shadow of her brow, and you can make out her fists clenching by her sides.

 _Hello, my lady,_ Kankri’s whisper soothes, over everyone’s thoughts.

“I thought …” your mother tries, pale. She thought, like you, that he was dead all these years.

She thought there was nothing left of either of them anywhere in the world.

And she stands, stumbling to Kankri. She goes to her knees again before him, hands gracelessly running along the scales at his chin and wrapping around his horns.

“We will take care of you.” She says to him.

The four of you manage to get Kankri into the barn, where it’s remarkably warm despite the chill of outside. The hay bales and piles of straw have soaked up the heat of the sun. There have also been several pipes installed that run through the walls and under the floor from the forge, judging by the freshly re-packed earth. Thankfully, there’s also a pit in the corner that can house a safe fire if needed. The barn was designed to house a horse or two as well, if your mother ever got around to building that cart she wanted, so there are blankets and such.

It’s a perfect place for Kankri to stay, for now. The only better place would be in the house, but there’s not enough room.

You’re so incredibly tired. Your metal leg is pinching on the skin in uncomfortable ways. The robes you’ve not removed since before the race are as exquisite looking as ever when you look down, but you can’t imagine that your face matches them at the moment.

Dave walks around, checking the place over and nodding appreciatively at the handiwork. He drops your bag next to the door. It’s not got stalls in it yet, so the space is plenty enough for a little bit of stretching room. Kankri walks over to the hay and noses it, inspecting the smell. Deeming it worthy, he promptly lays down, almost on his side, curling his tail by his nose. Aradia sniffs at him before curling up near his head.

Dave sighs. “Looks like we’re hanging out for a bit.” He meets your eyes, and you blink at him. You haven’t slept in so many hours. He looks to your mother, who stands almost strangely uncertainly halfway between the door and Kankri.

“I should…” she drops off, hesitating. It’s so strange, this behavior, for your mother. “I’ll fetch some fish. I got a basket fresh this mornin’, I can always get more.” She rushes out of the room with determination etched into her eyes.

It’s quiet in the great empty barn, aside from the rumbling breaths of the dragons. You stand there and watch them, blankly. The room rings silence in your ears, and the light shafts from the loft window catch dust on its way down.

“Karkat, you should rest,” Dave says softly, and you look at him. You’re not really feeling anything, and his obvious concern grates on you.

“I’m fine,” you reply, frowning at Dave.

An exasperated look comes over him, and he heaves a sigh. “No, you’re not. You need to-.”

Your fists clench, you straighten, and you hear the straw shift as Kankri lifts his head, jerking it toward you as you snap, “I don’t want him to be alone.”

_Small one, if you need to rest, you should, I’m not going anywhe –_

“No,” you almost shout at him.

The anger blooms from nowhere, ebbing up from your heart and fizzling out in your nostrils. Kankri’s eyes sink to half-mast, and his chin dips. Defensively. You did that. He has nothing to fear from you, but you did that.

_I’m sorry, Karkat._

Guilt starts to replace the anger, and you scramble. The exhaustion is wearing your wits. “I just need to take care of you. That’s it,” you try, still snapping, uncontrollable. Dave’s hand brushes your shoulder, very light, and you step away.

 _I want you to be alright, too, small one,_ Kankri’s whisper says, smoothing your ruffled feathers.

He’s – it’s like you’re a child again. It makes you feel angrier, indignant. This is what he did when you would get like this as an adolescent.

The last time you’d seen Kankri, you had fought with your father. It was on bad terms that you parted with them, and Kankri’s words were still of comfort and reassurance. From his own life he understood the flying moods of the young and hormonal, and the need to leave the nest and be independent.

And even now, he comforts you in the same way. Smoothing your aggravation, soothing your senses without stimulating a single one of them.

Dave’s hand retracts, and you wilt. You’re so tired.

But you still have to care for Kankri. You promised.  

 _I’m not going anywhere,_ Kankri whispers to you again, even as you move.

On your way to the cold water trough, you grab two large buckets. One you fill with the cold water, and carry with you to the hot trough. The second bucket is filled with hot water, and on your way back to Kankri you grab a bristle brush and a cotton cloth. Dave sees your motives and brings up a stool, sitting it just by Kankri but not too close.

After you sit, Dave steps toward the barn doors. He clicks his tongue, and Aradia moves to her feet.

“I’ll… I’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll get a few healers in town, let your mother know. They can see what to do about your wings, Kankri,” he says, and then he’s gone. Perhaps he sensed that his presence was best served elsewhere at the moment.

Kankri makes a pained noise as you sit by one of his legs and begin to use the brush soaked with hot water to clean off the dirt and grime.

“The cold water is for you to drink,” you tell him, and scrub the dirt and dried blood from his scars and claws. Instead of speaking to you, the dragon makes an appreciative noise and tries to relax in your care. You wish you were a healer. You can’t fix him.

You get that foot clean, and move on to the other. The burn scars on his wrists are even more horrifying without a layer of filth, but his claws begin to shine once more, and his scales assume some of their previous luster. You’re absurdly reminded of your own scars. The second bucket of water is half empty, and you’re using the cloth to wash the dark leathery wings, careful of the worst of the knots and cuts from the chains, when your mother returns.

“I’m sorry, I had to check on the forge. I left in the middle of a project. I will be back later, but I can’t stay now, I’m sorry dears,” she tells the dragon under your hands, who is currently emitting a very steady and displeased growl at your painful ministrations.

The basket of fish is placed by his head after they have a very obvious mental conversation, and he chews viciously on a large bass as you move on to the second of his four wings. It takes you less time than the first, as the lower set is smaller than the top.

Mother leaves after a moment of inspecting his wounds with a very distressed look on her face. With a sigh, you continue to clean.

Strangely, Kankri doesn’t stop you. He neither moves away nor complains nor talks about the clear and offensively incorrect implication that he is incapable of caring for himself. When you were younger, he would dive into the shallows at the beach, and use the sand and salt to polish his scales. He obviously cannot do that now.

When you move away from the wings and onto the unbroken flesh of his wide, sharp tail fan, Kankri’s eyes drift closed, and the growling turns into more of a hum, and then a purr. Another bucket of warm water later, and you’re finishing his back spines. His purring is softer, now, unbidden but welcome all the same, and you sit next to him.

It’s a simple thing to drop the rag in the bucket of dirty water and lean your head onto his chest, to hear the rumbles.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_“Pattan.”_

_“Hmm? Well, that’s an old nickname. What are you doing awake?”_

_“Story?”_

_“Well, you’re nearly thirteen at this point, son. I thought you’d outgrown stories.”_

_“… sometimes the night feels a little dark.”_

_He sighs. “Very well. I’ll not have you on my knee, though.” Your father laughs, then._

_Embarrassed, you make a face. You and your father are sitting under the wide-leaved blue palm trees just beyond the kitchen door. The sands are light with the touch of the moon on the dunes, out beyond Josefka’s field. Out there, you see a night hawk swoop from its perch, catching something for its supper. Or maybe for its nest? Their hatching season started a week ago._

_The neighbor you used to train with, play with, spend time with; they were drafted into the war a few months ago. She was placed on the front lines, a talented archer._

_Her brother received her weapons and boots yesterday. They were eaten by something large. Something with many teeth. That was all that was left. The event shook you. What are you destined for?_

_There’s movement out of the corner of your eye, and everything blurs except for the hulking black mass coming around the bend of the house._

_Oh, Kankri._

_“Hey,” you say. A little too loudly for the night._

_A deep rumbling comes from Kankri as he comes around and lays out in a patch of moonlight._

**_May I tell the story instead? I do believe I know which one is still his favorite._ **

****

_The dragon’s voice is teasing, and he stretches his wings slowly, careful to not blow around any sand. There’s a lot sitting around from the storm earlier in the evening. Mother is still inside, cleaning dust from the bedclothes before going to sleep._

_At Kankri’s tone, you make another face, and cover your eyes with your hand._

_“I’m not so predictable as a child anymore, Kankri,” you try to scold him._

**_As your voice has yet to break, I’m not certain if you are not, in fact, a child any longer. Small one._ **

_The voice warms your thoughts, and you relax into your chair. Maybe you should have spoken to him earlier. He always seems to know what to let you feel of himself to make you feel better._

_“Well, alright, brother, you can give him the tale. You tell that one better than I do, anyway,” your father says, and looks back out at the fields and dunes._

**_What is the matter, small one? Is it love trouble again? Which lovely lady or lad has vexed you this time?_ ** _The dragon knows what troubles you, you know, but you splutter at the notion of romantic problems anyway. He’s trying to distract you, to make you feel better._

_Kankri laughs as best as he is able, aloud. A grating, barking noise that sounds like boulders falling and cracking on the ground below. **I apologize for trivializing your feelings, small one. I do know what the trouble is. I am sorry for your friend. She was brave. She had a good heart.**_

_The closed channel of communication you have with him feels small, intimate. Tears prickle in the inside corners of your eyes._

**_Now. Let me begin. It is the one about the Mother of Dragons, is it not?_ ** _The dragon curls up when you nod, laying himself down beneath the tree. He still has pieces of straw hanging onto his claws from the bales in his stables. **Would you like to sit with me, or are you too old for that?**_

_You do. You want to sit with him. But you shake your head no, anyway, and close your eyes. Kankri likes to provide images with his stories. You lay your hands in your lap, and feel your father sigh peacefully next to you. His breath is like a balm on your nerves._

**_Let us begin._ **

_Kankri sweeps his tail across the shade._

****

**_All dragons believe that they are descended from one; the Great Mother._ **

****

**_The Mother of Dragons, Flyer of The Light, The Cherub, bringer of peace to the warring world of men and beasts. Her wings constructed of prism and shafts of morning, breath of the sun itself and the warmth of spring. Her voice was born of the moon and her claws sired by the stars. Fangs of crystal and scales of dew at dawn._ **

****

_You feel the cool air of the night blow across your face. The leaves in the grove rustle, and the well bubbles nearby._

**_From her came forth great numbers. She mothered many a brood, all of them great. There were the black scales, the white scales, the blue scales, the red, and the yellow. They separated to all the corners of the world, creating new colors and forms. She gave them love, immortality, and magic. She gave them the ability to understand language and speak to humans, and to control the elements. All were beautiful in her eyes. All of her children._ **

****

**_One night, as the Great Mother laid to sleep, she received startling news. One of her sons, from her first brood, had used his given power to take control of a group of humans. They were a kingdom, and they were vicious, stomping all in their path. Their army was thousands wide and deep in its masses, and they wanted only bloodshed._ **

****

**_The Great Mother, nearing the end of her time, went to her son._ **

****

**_“My child, why do you do this?” She asked. For she could not imagine._ **

****

**_“I have not been made better,” her son said to her. “I have lived too long, and I have not grown special or strong.”_ **

****

**_She was saddened. This alone had made her son turn from her teachings, and make war where there had been peace?_ **

****

**_In anger, her son struck her through with his mighty claw._ **

****

**_The Great Mother bled. With the last of her strength, she smote her son. In sadness, with her last energy, she took the immortality from the dragons. If the immortality is what turned him, they must not have it. His brothers and sisters wailed as they felt the energy leave them, but instead of turning on the Mother in anger, they turned within. They understood the wisdom of the Great Mother’s actions._ **

****

**_And so they would make Good._ **

****

**_And then it was, that the Great Mother fell from her flight, one last time._ **

****

**_We do not remember her name, but it is said that where she fell, a great crystal was laid as an egg. Chunks of that crystal disappeared over time, some of them stolen for its great power, some just falling to dust with time._ **

****

**_They say the greatest piece of that crystal is what makes the Capital City float._ **

****

_“Do you believe that?” You ask him, drowsy._

**_It was tens and tens of thousands of years ago, small one._ ** _He laughs gently. **I cannot say. But the humans do. Some of them still believe it.**_

 

 

* * *

 

 

You wake, and it’s dark in the barn aside from the fire crackling in the corner. It was mid-afternoon when you arrived back, due to the time difference between Seahaven and Skaia.

You’re curled in the crook of Kankri’s foreleg, resting against the wider part of his belly and turned away from his head. How did you get here?

The dragon’s belly heaves as he breathes, a steady rhythm like the pulse of waves on the shore. Tide in, and out. Rumbles, and whooshes. The warmth from his fire bladder is a comfort. It means that some of his health has returned, even in such a short time, if his fire bladder is functioning.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you sooner,” your mother’s voice says, and you close your eyes again. There’s the sound of her sitting on the stool. “Yes, it was shocking. Thank you for your understanding.”

The sound of shifting fabric fills the silence for a bit, as she adjusts herself. You hear water, again, and the lid being taken off of a jar. Is she bandaging a wound? Did you fall asleep before you could put liniment on the scars on Kankri’s wrists?

“Well, thank you for saying so. Though I can’t possibly believe I don’t look my age. Hold still.”

There’s a small noise of protest from the beast you’re cradled against where you lie on the floor. Yes, it must be salve, or liniment, that she is rubbing on his skin. Those are the wounds that would cause the most worry, given their placement.

“Karkat said what?” She laughs. “Oh, that boy. I’ll have you know I call him by his old nickname all the time. Oh, calm down, it’s harmless, and he gets some comfort from it, I can tell. Maybe it’s just because I’m his mother. Did he still call you Kanny when he saw you?”

The sound of her laughter makes you relax, some more, and you wonder if she’ll clean and salve the wounds on his face.

By the grunt you hear several minutes later, you gather that she’s at least cleaning them. The damage left by the muzzle was awful. You pray that he has no infected teeth.

“You know, you still have a home here.”

There’s a moment of silence, then

“You’re welcome.”

You drift off, and drift back. Somehow, your usual need to be constantly alert has been erased. Is it the exhaustion? Or do you truly feel… safe?

“Are you entirely blind? Yes, I understand how rude it must be of me to ask it, but I think it’s a fair question if it will help me with your care,” she’s saying the next time you drift back to slight consciousness.

“What do you mean that it’s just like if I asked Karkat about his leg, if he were missing one of his?” She starts laughing, but the laugh drops off into something cold as she realizes something. “Wait… do you not know?”

It’s entirely quiet, and you blearily get the feeling that Kankri is asking your mother a lot of fast questions that all carry the same end meaning.

“Kankri…. Karkat’s leg… he lost it, in the war.”

A confused whine comes from the dragon, ending on a furious growl. His right leg tightens slightly where you lay on it.

“Yes, we got a prosthesis made, yes I know he should have been allowed to live without it if he truly wanted to, you’re always right and all that,” mother mutters, and you can practically feel her hand waving around, cutting him off mid-tirade.

“But you should have seen how depressed it allowed –“

“No, I’m not saying that being disabled was the only thing that made him –”

“Okay, alright, Kankri,” she breaks off, with a relieved chuckle. Kankri used to lecture so much, before, when something rubbed him the wrong way. Sometimes his views could be very biased and a little misguided and not nearly as helpful as he thought them to be, but –

Your mother laughs again.

He’s… is he doing this on purpose?

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she says next, and you were about to move, but you freeze.

“I miss him so much, still, Kankri.”

Your mother sounds so lost, so… she sounds so unlike herself. The moment of weakness catches your very breath in your throat, and holds it so tight it could be a hangman’s knot.

“I thought you were gone forever, too,” she adds, and then… mother starts to cry.

She makes ugly, deep, sucking breaths, and you feel Kankri’s neck move to lie gently across her lap.

“He… I forgot what his voice sounded like. I forgot his voice,” mother is saying, muffled in something. “I almost forgot his face. Ten years must seem so short to you, even in that prison--”

She gasps.

“He’s so beautiful. Just like… I remember. Just like –”

The sobs start anew, quieter this time.

"Thank you so much for your memories.”

Darkness takes you again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It takes two weeks for Kankri to make most of a recovery.

 

Dave comes by the next day, as promised, with two healers. One from the chapel of the light, who wears a mask over their face, and one with the simple robes of an apothecary. Both examine Kankri, taking into account his wings, spines, measuring the length of his teeth and nails and running a swab across his tongue. With Kankri’s permission, one of them takes a very small section of his wing membrane and performs a small spell over the spot. The hole doesn’t heal, but scars on the edges.

They come to the conclusion that not much at all can be done about his wings, except giving them time. A lot of time. Decades, maybe. Time to redevelop and form into their proper shape. 

Damage is quicker inflicted than healed, after all.

The limbs have atrophied to the point where they may regain a little more movement, but they themselves are not capable of properly healing. They’ve been chained in iron too long, and the restraints, according to them, must have been enchanted, because several important bones have healed in broken positions, and there is residual black magic lingering in his very skin.

Most of the rest of Kankri, however, is bound to make a fairly stellar renewal, they say. While there, they make and leave you with a box of freshly-filled vials of a healing draught, and a large tub of salve to stave infection from the wounds that they reopen and then bandage.

 

Kankri will be blind for the rest of his life, they say.

 

They cannot heal or replace his eyes from this blindness. Dragon eyes are too full of magical energy to replace. He will never see again.

With that final news, even though he must have already known, Kankri goes still and quiet as a statue for three days.

The healers are not strong enough in their control of magic to heal a dragon this mature like they would a human, they say. As a dragon ages, their magic becomes stronger, more independent, and more complex. Kankri would have to heal himself somehow. Either that, or go back to the city for a sorcerer.

The notion of going back to the city for any reason makes the dragon’s wings flare and crack, his claws screech on the floor, and fire glow from his throat. The thought is unanimously rejected.

Kankri catches a fever the day after they inform him of his probably permanent inability to fly or see again. It’s most likely a sickness picked up from imprisonment, and the healers say that it’s normal. They made the draught with something like this in mind.

Dave helps you tend to Kankri. Once he mentions that he’s frustrated that the time he’s spending with you is in such tense circumstances. He jokes that he wishes he’d had time to rest after getting back. You smile and grin, and accept his assistance.

Mother comes and visits throughout the day despite being busy with work. You suspect that she and Kankri have conversations in thought, slipping back into old habits. She always bends down to press a kiss between Kankri’s horns when she drops by, and he has croons just for her. Dave has to explain that the noises mean familiarity in family and bond, and he hears them occasionally from Aradia or Damara, and mostly between the two of them. 

Instead of complaining or worrying about you more, Dave fills the air with babble.

It’s very pleasant, and he tells you about his travels. He talks about the places he went, the things he saw that he didn’t mention to you in letters. He describes seas of green grass and leaping deer and airfish, a pack of coyotes with green fur, and a flock of kelpies in the sea. He talks absently about the great humps of whales following in the wake of the head of a massive creature with a head like a dragon, and a few species of beautiful birds the colors of which could only barely be described. He talks about marble arches etched with shining runes, the rabble of his fellow racers, their dragons, and their stories.

Kankri seems to enjoy his talking immensely, perking up when Dave shows up, and humming at descriptions.

Dave talks about how he wishes you’d been there, and how much he missed you on his travels.

Once recovered, Kankri simply walks out to the cliffside in the warming spring sun. He doesn’t speak to anyone, and sits there in the grass. A seagull or two land on the half-folded arches of his wings. He cranes his neck and listens to the ocean, watches the air blankly, and returns to the barn at night for rest.

 

Something about it seems familiar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys
> 
> hope you liked the chapter. next week's is gonna be fun i think, hahaha.
> 
> as usual i love feedback, and i hope everyone is having a wonderful day, and if you're not i hope it gets better!
> 
> \------------
> 
> side note: i've written a lil something extra in dave's POV for this fic, ill probably have it done and edited by mid-week, if not that, then next chapter! lemme know if there's anything in particular you want to see in his POV (or anyone else's), and I can make the thing a sort of timestamp-doodily-thingie, and write multiple ones in the same oneshot or somethin'. i just love you guys, and i know what they're all feeling in my head, so if you wanna know, lmk!


	23. EPISODE 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The author writes an unexpectedly short chapter, and Kankri enjoys the company of orphans.

You get surprisingly little of Kankri in your life after you bring him home. 

He spends a very large amount of time sitting out on that cliffside, laying on the rocks, and emitting a steady stream of smoke. He intermittently stretches his wings for long moments, as if just testing the idea that he’s no longer trapped. Head craned, legs folded beneath and before him, tail curled defensively to his side. Kankri makes conversation with you and your mother occasionally, but otherwise, not much changes. 

The main difference is that Dave and Aradia bring a fresh (decently sized since the recovery of any kind of appetite) basket of fish every morning. The basket is about as large as a barrel, and thankfully most dragons only have to eat once a day. Kankri doesn’t even eat as much as he could due to his inactivity. One of the local fisherman has gladly offered the fish to your family, and you’re eternally grateful. 

Every so often, Kankri will come around and recline next to the workshop instead of by the cliffs. Those days, he talks a little more, and on one occasion offered to stoke the fire so that you could all work faster. At first, the massive black dragon scared your mother’s forge assistant, but he must have spoken to Kankri as well, and soon threw quips and remarks around him just like you and your mother.

Still, for the most part, he remains silent, listening and tasting the air, white eyes glazed and unblinking. 

Dave comes by to visit and bother you while you work. He brings Aradia, of course, who tries but never manages to get Kankri to play or participate in her shenanigans. You can feel them communicating, though, when they both go silent, and make various noises at each other. Dave talks to Kankri, too, when they’re both at the workshop. Sometimes out loud, and sometimes quietly. The art of silent speech with a dragon seems to be one garnered from practice and experience. It makes sense that Dave is capable. He is a rider, after all. 

A small part of you hopes that Kankri gets some comfort from talking to a rider, since he no longer has one. He seems to get enough comfort from Aradia curling and draping herself about him like a snake while she’s visiting. 

It kills you inside that you can’t heal him yourself. You promised, and couldn’t keep it. Is this how your mother felt?

 

 

* * *

 

One day, about a month after you’ve come back from the city, Dave brings up the fact that you haven’t gone to visit the orphanage since your return. The notion makes you balk, until you recount the days in your head and find that he’s correct. 

“Well, now’s as good a time as ever,” your mother says, one hand on her hip. Since Kankri’s return, she’s gone back to how she acted before, easily snapping back to a comfortable rhythm in life. Her versatility never ceases to amaze you. 

As if you need convincing, she adds, “We’re done with a lot of the payload today, and tomorrow’s as well. You’ve been working hard, it’s about time you had a break.” 

Frowning, you eye her suspiciously. It’s the same kind of talk you used to get from her while Dave was gone, and you overworked yourself to make up for spare time. 

“Well, if we’ve got tomorrow’s work done as well, you should come with us,” you counter, your own hand finding your hip, mirroring hers. 

She looks like she’s going to protest, glances around for some task to do. “After all,” you continue, “Porrim was talking about getting the hinges in that house replaced, just before I left. Did you get that done in the last month?”

Now you’ve won, you can clearly see. Your mother sends you a grin that lets you know your victory, and throws her arms up, relenting. 

“Alright, fine, son, I’ll come too. Not often an old woman gets a break, after all,” she kids. Her apron comes off and is lain across her bench stool. You hang yours up, and the gloves you were wearing, with your tool belt. Your mother leaves her belt on, however, and picks up a tool box. She waves to Jake, who waves back from where he’s adjusting something on the fire. 

Dave hoots, and punches the air. “Nice! Vantases abound, going ta visit the kids!” 

There’s a noise from the side of the building, and Kankri sticks his snout halfway through a window. 

_May I accompany?_ He asks. 

For a moment, it seems like he’s asking because he simply wants a change of scenery. But maybe he doesn’t want to be left alone, as he had been for so long. 

_If my lack of speed would not be a issue, of course,_ he adds. 

Your mother nods, smiling. “Well of course, dear, come along. I’m sure the children would love to meet you.”

Kankri straightens, and lumbers around the side of the house. When he apologizes for bumping into you, there’s the tiniest note of excitement in his communication.

 

 

* * *

 

People in the town stare at Kankri. They stare at his scars, his healed wounds, his white eyes. It makes you glad that Kankri cannot see. He must be able to sense them, however, because he closely follows your footsteps, and keeps his head low. 

Most of the people stare, surely, but half of them smile at the newcomer, and the other half look away quickly. They’re not unused to dragons, here, despite there being so few of them. It must just be his size and appearance. He’s quite scary-looking, if you’re honest with yourself. Jet-black, shining, with sharp claws, teeth, and spines, and riddled with scars. He’s clearly a dragon meant for combat. Very unlike the ones they have seen. 

When you arrive at the orphanage, the children rush out to meet the lot of you on the wide road. Several of them run to you and hug your legs, with M waiting for you to lift him up for a hug around your middle. A few of the children almost tackle Dave, and all of them greet your mother in turn. Some of them hush, just barely making any noise, when Kankri comes into view. 

Aradia is the first one to do anything to break the silence. Using some amount of wisdom to know that the situation should be diffused, she bumps one of the kids with her snout and leaps over the crowd, running for the back yard. 

The group of children follows her amidst a mess of clamorous yelling, including M. Porrim and Kanaya are standing in the doorway when the dust clears, and they both greet Kankri and then the other three of you in turn. Dave and your mother are invited inside, and you take the opportunity to lead Kankri around to the back of the home. 

It was like the children hadn’t even noticed him out in the front, with the way they stop and look when you round the corner. His head hangs just below your waist level. Air puffs out of his nostrils with his nervous exhales. Kankri used to be indifferent toward children for the most part. How will he take this?

“Be careful, kids,” you tell them when they start walking over. “He can’t see you.” 

_I am perfectly able to tell them myself. Honestly, Karkat, you assuming I cannot is rude at best._

The children gasp as the unfamiliar voice echoes in all their heads, and draw nearer. None of them seem to have more than a passing hesitance in your eyes. 

“He’s got scars like you,” one of them tells you, and pats Kankri’s nose. Another brave one gets closer to his wings, and several more move forward to also lay a hand on the great snout. 

You wait for Kankri to tense up, to make intimidating gestures or shrink in fear, but he doesn’t. You look on as Aradia nears him, too, rubbing her cheek against his and then slithering around and through the group of young ones. You look on as Kankri melts into the children’s hands, welcoming their innocence and excitement at his appearance and the newness of him. 

He stretches his wings out all the way, into the sky, and the crowd looses a cry of excitement at how awesome the span is. You hope dimly that he’s home, here. His love for family would be so concentrated. It feels familiar to you, at least. Maybe you should bring him down here to see them again. 

When you look up toward the house, you see Dave standing in the doorway and giving you a thumbs-up.

 

 

* * *

 

It’s around dusk when you and your mother head, with the two dragons and Dave in tow, back home. Porrim and Kanaya had served up a lovely meal for supper while the dragons relaxed outside in the sun. 

Mother is walking slightly ahead, joking about something. You’re unsure of what exactly it is, 

The air shivers.

You hear the twang of a bow, and the whistle of an arrow.

As if in slow motion, your mother’s shirt splits on the sleeve, the skin tears open, and blood spits from the inch-deep wound. Her eyes go wide. Out of shock, she trips and falls backward. Aradia emits a growl, and Kankri rumbles so low it shakes the very ground around you. His wings and tail tuck close to his body, and his head flicks around, trying to pinpoint the source of the assault. 

Dave cries out your name, and everything goes back up to speed. 

You leap forward and shield your mother’s body, already determining the trajectory of the arrow. The top of the butcher’s, to the southeast. But there’s no one there. Someone hurt your mother though, someone hurt her. And they must _pay_. 

_**“Who did this,”**_ you shout, and the panicked screams of several villagers catch up to your ears. Mostly a few people are going for shelter, and your shout echoes off the buildings in the canyon.

You look down at your mother for a brief moment, and her eyes are wide, but she’s only been grazed on the arm. Relief is in her features, but also the need to flee, and the panic of unknowing. She’s breathing, though. Breathing steadily and reaching out a hand. To comfort you. Why? The prickling heat that crosses your scalp and centers on your eyes is electric. Something zings in your spine. You feel your face is hard, hardened into what it was. What it used to be. 

Your mother is scared, but concerned. You must protect her, though. You have to protect what you’ve always had. When all else failed. 

There’s another twang. Dave cries out your name again, too late. 

_Small one!_ Kankri tries. Also too late. 

You look down, and the long bloodied feathers of an arrow are protruding from your chest. Right in the center. Right in the worst spot. Blood blooms across your shirt, still dirty from the morning’s work. People scream around you, your mother shrieks in alarm and you distantly hear Dave crying out in panic. 

You scrabble at the arrow in your chest, as you sink to your knees. It moves sickeningly in your chest, as if lovingly caressing your ribs. Blood drips from the shaft and into the dirt. 

The village seems to turn on an axis around you. Pivoting on a central point, like you’re on a boat. What? You haven’t been on a boat in years. Where did the boat come from?

Something in you feels more wrong than just the arrow. A cooling sensation spreads through your chest. That’s not what pain feels like. On the wake of the chill, a searing hot flame guts you. It’s a deep hatred that claws into your bones; you can’t see, you can’t see anything. Your eyes feel as if they bleed, your nose and ears are on fire and your throat clenches. Lightning follows the heat. You’re crippled, choking, you can’t scream. No sound comes out but everything is agony. 

“Someone get a healer, _now!”_ someone is yelling. Someone with a deeper voice, someone you know and love and – 

You black out for a moment, and you’re on your side on the ground, holding yourself up by a single hand. No, you’re not holding yourself up, someone is holding you up.

Oh, the excruciating _wrongness_ in you.

Someone drags a man forward by his hair. It’s one of the hunters from the village, still dressed for his hunting from the past few days, most likely. There’s something wrong with his eyes. One of them turns, seems to rotate. You count eight pupils in the center, spinning too fast. It must be the blood loss making you see things. It couldn't be the same. It couldn't be. No one else has seemed to notice, so it must not be there. You're so... things are so blurry. Where is Rose? Twice is enough coincidence. Lalonde, where is Lalonde? 

Dave is there in your face, now, holding your cheeks in his hands. Tears stream down his nose, pooling in his eyes before cascading in bright rainbow streaks to the ground. 

“Come on Karkat, stay with me, stay awake,” He’s almost yelling at you. His mouth twists into a maw of crystals and worms. 

The battlefield crashes behind him. 

Bright lights, fire, horses toppling with their entrails spilling on the ground. Soldiers falling with more outside than in. Sollux pulling a horse off of you. Eridan Ampora bursting into flames, time and time again. Burst, burst, fire in your eyes and muscle flecking your cheek. Makara leans down toward you, kneeling on one leg. 

You look back to Dave’s face. This is the first time you’ve seen him cry, but crying isn’t for the battlefield. Crying is for mothers when their sons don’t come home, and the coldest winters when you know you won’t live. Crying is for dragons. Crying is for – Makara hands you a medal. It’s shaped like a heart. A heart that beats in your hand. 

Beating, beating, that cursed heart. It beats faster, faster, and you want it to stop. It’s such a loud heart, a noisy heart. Makara grins at you, from where he leans over your prone form. 

You’re warm, now. Finally. Hands are touching and moving you. 

You’re so tired. The darkness seems like such a good idea to obey. 

It’s so hot outside, but you feel cool. Is it hot outside? It should be cool, it’s only the third month. 

Makara’s teeth are made from coal, and stink like sulfur. 

Ampora explodes again. 

A soldier looks up at you from his broken bed, and then his eyes close forever on his missing lower half. Intestines spill from where he’s been severed in two. 

Your mother’s there. In front of the house, kneeling in the snow. 

You look back to Dave. His face twists into a smile wherein too many teeth exist. So many teeth. 

You’re so tired. 

You’re so cold. 

It’s so dark. 

Dave _stops_ smiling when you decide to fall asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey all! :) wasn't that fun.
> 
> so im making an info post series in case you're just achin' for some info about my worldbuilding! i've made the first one and haven't been feeling up to making the second one yet but the first is a little treatise on formal titles and some character info in the fic! i will also be doing one on dragons and some minor zoology and one on more magic/how shit works sorta. ill link them here when they're done but otherwise all info ive released will be located in the in name and in deed tag on my blog :)
> 
>  **[HERE](http://royalrastafariannaynays.tumblr.com/post/146387763005/in-name-and-in-deed-stuff-1)** is the first installment!
> 
>  **ALSO** check out the Dave POV sidefic I published this week! It's pretty good, or so I hear, and a great insight into how he thinks about everything! It's the second part of the series. I will also be putting up another one probably within a week depending on what I get done this week!
> 
>  **ALSO!** one of you readers guys wrote a fic inspired by this one, and it's called The Blood That Binds Us, by Caliginous_Confused! Check it out! 
> 
> As usual I hope everyone is having a stellar day, and has a good week, love y'all!
> 
>  
> 
> \---------------------------------
> 
> hahaha alternate chapter title (what it was in my notes for a month)
> 
> KARKAT GETS FUCKING SHOT


	24. EPISODE 23

“Someone get a healer! Quick, go!” 

“It’s too late, man, we can’t save ‘em.”

“Yes we can, asshole! Come on you useless pieces of slime, move! Push on the tree, we can get it off him! Is this how Lord English is going to win the war?!”

Seven people move in unison, pushing, grunting. The log is taller than you, and smoking with the lightning strike that felled it from its rotting roots. Clothes are soaked, the air is freezing against your skin, and you exhale steam.

Thunder crashes, and you push, feet slipping in the mud. You can save them, you know you can. Three men – no, two – were trapped under the tree, when it fell. You were on a patrol, out in the field. The ones who were smashed were Rufioh, your commanding officer, and his second cousin, Tavros. The only reason you know their names is because it got confusing calling a surname and getting two responses.

“Heave!” You yell, and they respond. Usually, they tend to ignore you, because of your accent. Someone had started ridiculous rumors that you didn’t know how to read or write, and they’d stuck, regardless of untruth. Your father had taught you literacy enough for a gentleman, even though you’d had far more patience for lessons with weapons and crafting than writing. 

Sollux had become your friend after he did a bit of deeper observation of your more obvious talents. You bested him frequently in practice with weapons and hand-to-hand combat in the beginning, and he got better at analyzing your movements and combatting your skills. So many fights between the two of you, and he offered to help you practice straightening out your accent a little, and making it sound more refined. You rejected the offer, determined to make these men respect you regardless of stupid things like that. After that, though, you and Sollux got closer and closer, and soon you were thick as thieves. 

Now, you get the hint of a feeling that maybe they do respect you. A little. 

It definitely wasn’t the threat of Lord English. He’s awful, but so far away at this point that there’s no real point in bringing him up. A dormant leader, a weakened adversary. There are rumors of him building up power again, to combat the Queen’s rule. They’re most likely just rumors. Who would want to start another wave of this war, after all?

“Heave!” You say, again, and the log rolls. It rolls and keeps rolling, and several men have to scramble out of the way as to not be crushed. 

The messenger you’d sent for the healer will not be back in time. 

The younger of the two prone men groans quietly. He had only gotten his lower half under the falling tree. The elder does not move. His body is crushed beyond recognition. The inside of his head has been squeezed grotesquely out into the wet earth. He had tried to shove his cousin out of the path. You look away. 

“Come on, let’s make him a litter, we need to get him to camp,” you say, kneeling down to Tavros. Like you had seen the other healers do, you lift his eyelids and check the pupil reflex, and check his tongue and teeth for blood. When you look up, none of the men have budged. 

“Move!” you command, and they rush like a hive of ants, all going to find different things. One of them comes up with several lengths of rope, while a few others take branches from the fallen tree. Rain pelts you in the face as you boss them around, letting Sollux come up with the actual plan for the litter but making sure it all gets done. With dripping hands they separate leafy fronds from hard wood, and manage to get it all into one piece.

Soon, you have the moaning man strapped to some branches, careful of his spine, and all of you are taking a swift jog the remaining two miles back to camp. 

The rain makes some of the terrain more difficult, but you will make it. You have to make it. The messenger meets you halfway there, two other men and the backup healer trying to walk quickly with them and a not-makeshift litter between them. You press on. No point in stopping and unstrapping Nitram now. 

“The other is gone. The body is where we left it,” you tell them, and all but the healer continue going. Nitram’s family will want his body, or at least his things. There is only so much you and a squadron of six remaining soldiers could do about it. 

When you return, Makara is there at the gate, waiting. Watching you with quiet eyes.

Why is Lieutenant General Makara there, waiting for you? The man wasn’t supposed to arrive to this camp for days yet. His eyelids are pulled down halfway as he stares at you down his nose. The top half of his face is shaded as he nearly slouches in his parade rest, in the pouring rain. 

Turning to the men, you shout, “Well what are you idiots standing around for?! Take Nitram to the healers’ tent!”

They look surprised, but hasten to do as you ask. 

“No, only two of you need to do that, the rest of you go back to your quarters and wait for instruction. Get dry. No one needs to get sick today,” you shout, and they flounder again. 

“Captor,” you say, but he’s already staying. The two of you assume a more formal stance, in front of the Lieutenant General. 

“Captain Nitram has fallen?” Makara asks. His voice is like ashes and gravel in his throat. This is the younger Makara, you know. Only several years older than yourself. Yet he stands nearly a foot taller, and is thin but muscular in a deadly way. His teeth almost look sharpened. 

“Yes, sir,” you reply, straightening and not looking him in the eye. “He is… gone to the Light. I apologize for taking command, but we needed to get Corporal Nitram back to the healers and no one was moving.”

“All is well with that, Sergeant,” he replies, and seems to think for a moment. “Return to your quarters. I will see to asking the both of you some things about the day. Thank you for getting Nitram back. You may visit him at your leisure once questioning is completed.” 

You nod, bow to and salute your superior as Sollux does the same beside you.

Later that evening, after nearly an hour of examination by Makara, you push aside a flap and walk into the mostly-empty healing tent. Nitram is laying on his side. There’s a pool of wet under the side of his face. He’s been… crying. He was always the weaker sort. 

He doesn’t look up, or move, when you near. Nitram’s face is pallid and hollow. 

“I guess I should thank you for saving me,” he murmurs, half into the pillow. You lower yourself onto a stool in front of him, and Sollux stands nearby. Your friend had walked with you from the tent where you’d been questioned about the events from the day, despite the lack of any real connection between him and the man in front of you. 

“I’m sorry about your cousin,” you answer, for lack of any real response to his gratitude. Anyone would have saved him.

“No one else on that team would have done what you did,” Nitram says bitterly. His brow furrows deeply, and his fists go white-knuckled in the blanket over him.

“Well, now you can return to duty,” you say, hopefully, thoughtlessly. The tent goes quiet. 

“I’m sorry, Vantas, but you’re wrong,” he whispers. The facts mash together in a very ugly manner in your head. He was smashed from the waist down. He’s lain on his side and not moving. When you look at his legs, there seems… something odd, about them. You can’t put your finger on why. Nitram looks at you for the first time since you entered the tent. One of his eyes is shot through with blood, purple behind the white. His chin wobbles like a newborn deer, and when his neck moves, it’s stiff. 

“I’ll not walk again. That’s what the healers say. They can do nothing about it. I can’t…” there is a sob. “I can’t feel anything from my stomach down.”

The lukewarm air of the tent feels cold. 

A life, robbed from this man. No, not man. A boy. Nitram is a boy, no more than twenty. Your age. Joined up out of the desire to please his family. A meek boy who flinched when he shot a gun. A boy who idolized his cousin. 

A boy who cannot walk, now. Can barely move. 

You need to say something.

"You'll be going back home to your family, then? You're from a wealthier family, yes? And you've always loved to write. Writing doesn't require..." You feel awful. Why did you say that? Why would it be any comfort at all?

Nitram looks away, and back down at the candle on his bedside table. 

“It’s so scary,” he whispers.

You leave the tent. 

The next day, Corporal Tavros Nitram is found dead in that bed. The boy had written an apology to his mother and father.

 

 

* * *

 

You blink, as if ascending from a dream. The room is full of people, and bright lights. 

Sollux is handing you a glass of sparkling wine, the drink of choice for the night. His hands are cold when your fingers brush. 

Just yesterday, they’d informed you that he would be your first officer appointment. You couldn’t have been more relieved. Especially when they told you that he would be accompanying you to this party, to advise you on how to behave and so on. As if you needed it. Your late father taught you manners fit for court, let alone this pretentious gathering. 

When you’d requested him on your list, they’d balked. _“Why not Ampora,”_ they’d asked, _“He is of high standing.”_ To which you had listed Captor’s feats of strategy, his wit, his eye as a brilliant tactician. _“I can’t very well trust these blue bloods, who would dash me under their steed’s hooves at the first sign of weakness,”_ you had explained. Obviously they had accepted your judgement, to whatever degree. 

It was an obvious ploy to butter you up, to make you more relaxed and compliant for the occasion. It's a small wonder why they bother, though. You're being graced with this _honor_. This great honor of promotion of rank, based solely on the opinion of your old Lieutenant General Makara. 

The year spent doing work and walking among the sunny sands of your birth place had warmed your skin once more to a pleasant dark tone. Since you’d tanned again, you’d caught the eye of several eligible young ladies in the town of your birth. But it had even further separated you from the people here.

The ballroom you stand in is full of pale, soft-looking elites with gold practically oozing from their very skin. 

“Relax, KK. The ceremony will be in just an hour now, and then you can leave. It wouldn’t be rude, at that point,” Sollux soothes you, also handing you a small plate littered with finger foods. 

You pick up what looks like a crab tart, and shove it into your mouth. After making sure to swallow, you retort, “Just an hour too long. I’ve been here for three, already, and I’ve had to talk to entirely too many people that seem to have their own ideas of what I am.”

“That’s politics, Karkat. You’re a colonel, now. And a Knight.” Sollux thinks for a moment, and then shrugs. "By title, but you still are."

And… you are.

The hour seems to pass more quickly than you thought possible, and you’re being hailed to the front of the room. The Queen waits idly as the crowd forms stately columns in the room on either side of the long white rug leading to her platform. You’re left standing in the center of that white rug, marching toward her. It was made clear by the Chair of Ceremony that you would need to put on clean shoes for this. Now you know why. The Queen almost looks bored, but at least she’s sitting up straight. Her dress drips with diamonds and silver, making her appear as if made of light. A net of yellow diamonds in her hair makes a corona of effervescence about her head. Like a halo. Like a holy being. Like a matriarch.

Her Majesty holds two glittering sickles in her hands, their handles encrusted with rubies and their blades lined with the purest mother of pearl. 

You step forward. The Queen smiles at you. 

“Lord English is a weak foe at the hands of our bravest generals. Do you have the courage to lead, and fight him and his newest wave of terror that crosses our borders and kills our innocents?” She asks, laying the blades across your shoulders. So close to your throat, your hair stands on end. 

“I do,” you reply. “I will be strong in the face of our greatest enemy. His monsters will fall to my command and my blade.”

 

 

* * *

 

“Of course, with the way you talk about it, you’d think you sought out and murdered all of these beasts personally,” Sollux says to you, one night. You’re sitting astride a bench, leaned on a post and writing your records. 

After the first dragon you kill, an old soldier tells you that it will get easier. It doesn’t get easier. 

It’s never easy, no. Your hands still shake, and it takes hours for Sollux to pull you from yourself. 

In every dragon, you see the first, crying out for mercy and righteousness from you. Crying out in pain and desperation for the end of war. Crying out like you can change it. 

Every dragon has a life, a home, a family. Every single one is trying to kill your men, and take those things from you instead. 

After the first dragon, none of them demand a duel.

The ones that are blinded, maimed, and controlled by dark magic… those aren’t as difficult to give the pity they desire. Not all of them die by your hand, but two more do. They begin to call you Dragonslayer, for a time. You put an end to that as soon as possible. It is not a title anyone should have. 

“I commanded for their deaths, Sollux,” you say calmly. A warm hand touches your face. Sollux has yet to put his shirt or gloves back on, and the bare skin against yours is a balm on your nerves. 

“Yes, but you had to. It’s your duty. These men would die if you did not. We would lose this war,” he tells you, and the tips of his fingers run down your ear, to your neck. Earlier that day, you had outsmarted and felled a creature so great, its tail and nose had disappeared in the fog beyond. “I came up with the plan for today’s adversary. At least let _me_ shoulder _that_ blame.”

You lay your hand over his, and drop your log book in your lap. 

“Yes, but I gave the final execution order for that plan. In the end, my guilt is just,” you insist.

Sollux frowns at you. 

But he leans in, as if wanting to silence you.

It’s not objectionable.

 

 

* * *

 

You stare up at the vaulted ceiling of the Cathedral of Light from your seat in the ninth pew. 

Three brothers of the clergy walk about the echoing hall to your left and right, two of them singing softly and another one saying scripture. The gazing pool next to the front altar reflects the light of the sun, and the thousands of tiny candles that are lit along the rim flicker. 

_“Niel c’thur a shalarn,”_ one of the brothers sings. 

_“Niel’iel c’thur a shee-la di’e,”_ one of the others sings back. The bells on their wrists flick softly as they walk.

The ancient tongue is so easy to understand. Not in a literal sense, seeing as no one but the clerics and some witches know it now. But it's easy to hear. It flows in one ear and out the other, calm and sonorous. Rhythmic. Unchanged.

One of your favorite things about the cathedral is that you can sit alone, and be unbothered. The Light cares not for your crimes against humanity or beast-kind. The Light only cares for your intent. And the Light allows you sanctuary from your soldiers, who are currently resting and loitering in the city barracks near the palace. Or the brothel. Or the nearest tavern. 

This is one of the few places you are allowed to go, since your troops are only taking a short rest in the city before continuing to the northern interception. 

But you remembered the cathedral from your first tour as a soldier. You have been back in service for almost four long years. Very long years. Your soldiers come and go, and you have seen many new faces join your troops. 

Captor… you don’t even know his company anymore. He had pushed you away for the final time. Just before coming to the city. His wife is here, you understand. The wife he married at eighteen. She is beautiful, you understand. But you are lonely. The company of the books in the Grand Library is stale, at best. It’s better no company at all, which is why you came to the Cathedral. None of your soldiers will be here when they could be drinking and making merry, instead.

The high windows and stained glass shine on the floor. Everything seems yellowed in the room, and it is still beautiful. 

A woman comes forward to the pool, and places three floating candles on the surface instead of around the outside. So she prays for someone at sea? Or does she have a message for the dead?

The woman leaves an offering at the altar, a basket of oranges and palm leaves. 

She turns to stare at you, silent. But she stares. She does stare.

It feels time for you to go.

 

 

* * *

 

The candle is flickering before your eyes when you wake.

You squint against the light, for a brief moment seeing only the flame.

All of you hurts, and your room is silent but for the creak of the house. Why did you leave your candle lit before going to sleep? An ache pries at one of the back corners of your head, and you try to move your neck to match your shoulders, which are flat to the pillow.

It twinges something deep within you to move the muscles in your neck. Something is wrong. 

You were going to tell someone something. But you forgot. It climbs up into your throat, and leaves. There was news; important news. What were you going to say? The memories try to last at you, to peel away your consciousness. 

It’s dizzying. You hurriedly blink it away. There must not be anything there that you need to touch.

A gradual survey of the room (what you can see of it) shows you that your metal leg is lying on top of your trunk, out of reach. A chair is pulled up to the bed, and the blanket from the front room hangs over the back of it. Next to the candle on the bedside table, there is a white bowl with a rag. And several small bottles. One of them you recognize as laudanum.

If you didn’t know better, you’d say that it looks a bit like a medical tent in here. It forces you into reflexive unease.

The bedroom door creaks open, and Dave Strider walks in. He has a pitcher in one hand. The other hand is holding a bowl that’s steaming. Presumably stew, judging by the aroma. Without glancing at you, but humming something under his breath, he moves to pour some of the contents of the pitcher into the white bowl on the table. After doing that, he sets the pitcher down. He sits himself with the steaming bowl in both hands, then, and finally looks at you out of the corner of his eye.

And he spills what is probably very hot stew on his hands when he jumps. 

“Ancient Fucking Light!” He exclaims, and swears some more while he fumbles. Despite the hot soup on his hands, he puts the bowl on the floor next to him and leans over you. 

Your throat is scratchy, and the first several words don’t get out right. Dave scrambles for a cup you hadn’t seen, on the table, and fills it with the pitcher. His left hand lifts the back of your head, and he pours a trickle of water into your mouth. Once the water’s past your lips, he puts the cup down and reaches to massage the front of your throat, just barely. Making sure you were able to swallow it? Why would he need to do that?

Oh, and that sweet water. How thirsty were you? 

“Are you actually awake this time?”

“…mother. Where?” You manage. Dave sighs, taking that as a yes. The relief that crosses his face, resetting his mouth into the purest of smiles… you don’t know exactly how to feel about that. 

“She’s fine, just sleeping. The arrow didn’t get her too bad or anything. She returned to work after a day of light rest.”

You’re confused. “Arrow?” The words stumble less this time, and your throat feels better. Still scratchy, though. You clear it weakly as Dave frowns. 

“You got shot, remember?” He asks. 

Well, that would explain the pain. 

“You were passed out for four days. The healers managed to get everything fixed up physically, but the arrow was… cursed, I think?”

You make an inquisitive noise, pointedly look back at the mostly-full cup. Dave takes a hint and continues explaining while he pours more water into your mouth. Painfully small amounts, though, and you want more. You understand why he doesn’t give it to you. Too much water on such an empty stomach would make it turn. 

“Someone was definitely out to kill you. Runes etched into the shaft and the arrowhead both, magic poison. Luckily the healers were able to do some preventative charms, and make sure the wound wasn’t going to be lethal,” he tells you, and puts the water cup back down. 

You don’t try to sit up, yet, figuring that it would be a spectacularly stupid idea. You’d taken arrows before, yes, but not… cursed ones. The kind that Eridan refused to use, so long ago. 

“Where… arrow hit?” You ask. Almost a full sentence. 

Dave grins a little at your progress, you think. “It was very close to your heart, actually. It only hit your lung.”

You sigh. At least you aren’t missing any new limbs. It does feel remarkably hot in this room, though. 

A cool, wet cloth touches your forehead, and your eyes flick back to Dave.

“Your mother wanted to watch you, but she had work to do. I volunteered,” he says. At a second glance, he does look rather… tired. Sleepless. “We’ve been taking shifts, and I do half the day and the night. I’ve been doing your chores around the house, too, when I feel too tired.”

You frown at that. He’s been working himself so hard. 

“I im'gine you’re tired. Kind of stupid,” you croak, and he looks like he wants to laugh. 

It’s quiet between you for a long time. You look away from his eyes as he runs the cloth over your forehead, cheeks and chin, down past your neck. You’re not without clothing, which you’re grateful for. Judging by the bowl of water, you had a fever for awhile, and probably still do. 

He’d asked if you were really awake… have you been waking up, and seeming true in your delirium? 

“Before you fall asleep again, I have medicine for you. Something for faster healing, and something for the pain from the curse and the body aches,” Dave tells you as he dips the rag back in the water.

“Mmm,” you hum. Everything feels… strange. Not floating, not bad, not good, just… strange. You don’t quite feel like talking. 

Enough time passes in silence between you that Dave returns to his stew. It smells almost sickeningly good to your hungry nose. Maybe you’ll be able to beg some broth from him. 

“It was frightening, seeing you bleed like that,” Dave tells you, taking a mouthful of chunks of potato and carrot, onion and… lamb, maybe? Your mother’s favorite recipe. 

It’s a curious thing for him to say, out of the blue. 

“You get used to seeing your friends bleed out, in my old profession,” you provide unhelpfully. The long sentence makes you cough. Dave takes another thoughtful several gulps of stew. 

It’s quiet for a bit longer.

And then, he sets his bowl down in his lap. Cradles it between his bare hands. His hands are so hard, but not as rough as yours. 

“I don’t want to see you hurt,” he mutters. “I care about you a lot.”

“If you had died…” He winces. 

The first instinct is to reject his statement as sarcasm or jest. So often he’s thrown his arm about your shoulders, and told you how he cares about you just as much as a fox cares for their supper, or a cat cares for the warm lap they sit in. Or other things, bad analogies, metaphors, jokes. 

“Shove it, Strider,” you tell him.

“Seriously, Karkat,” he says, not looking at you. 

And… you don’t question it. You’re not quite ready yet, to think about that. 

Instead, you divert with a question. 

“What color were your eyes before Aradia?” You ask, simple. Dave sighs. Defeated, accepting. He reaches for the water again, to fetch you another drink. 

“They were purple, like Rose’s. It’s a hereditary color, unfortunately,” he replies, eyes closed off.

 

 

* * *

 

Later that night, when you wake again, you find yourself consumed by thought. 

He said your name. Your first name. The way he said it was so gentle, so painful. You frown, even so soon after waking, and turn your head to look at him. 

Dave is leaning on his elbow on the bed, deep in thought. A cough from you has him looking directly into your eyes. You want to be filled with distrust, and doubt. But the certainty of his presence has all of the possible mistrust seeping away, down through the cracks. 

You feel hot again. You’re not quite sure if it’s the fever, or something else. But when he sighs and reaches for the water bowl, you find yourself knowing the answer. Careful fingertips push the cloth across your forehead, brushing back the sweaty locks. You can feel it a little better this time. 

He gives you some broth, this time, instead of water. There’s a small bowl of it on the table, next to the bowl with the cloth. The broth is salty and delicious on your tongue. Dave patiently rubs his fingers on your throat again, to help you swallow. It’s completely unnecessary, but you let him do it anyway. Your arms still feel too weak to move, but you manage to clench your hand. 

He doesn’t look into your eyes as you drink, focusing on pouring the broth and not spilling any on your blankets. It’s still a little disarming to have him this close, helping you. 

Gentle touches just barely linger on your chest as he stops massaging the front of your throat. Apparently it seems like you can swallow on your own, now. This treatment isn’t… bad. You’ve had many a healer help you with wounds, with care. The touch of his hands is pleasant. It’s comforting. His eyes are very obviously tired, bloodshot. 

After the bowl is empty, he puts it down and reaches for the cloth, to clean your face of any errant drops. Dave lays his hands in his lap once he’s done that. As if he’s unsure of his next move. He still hasn’t looked at you.

It feels horrible when you ask him what you ask him next.

“What are you playing at, Strider? I know you care about me. But this is something… else.”

The question feels like a mistake as soon as it leaves your lips, and Dave’s chin ducks shamefully into his chest. But… it wasn’t. It wasn’t a mistake. 

Dave’s full facial flush is apparent even in the dimness of the darkened room. He doesn’t answer you. 

Are you ready to know what that means? 

Before you know if you’re ready to know or not, Dave’s leaning down, toward you. 

His lips just barely brush yours, and then he draws back, and reaches for the rag in the bowl of water like nothing has changed. You can almost feel the heat on his face from here, though. 

Your heart is racing, pounding, you feel just a bit lightheaded. The skin of your face is hot, but it’s not just the healer’s antidote making you sweat out the curse. 

“Why did you do that?” You whisper. Nothing louder will come out. Dave isn’t looking at you. 

“I didn’t think I would get another chance, with how often you insist on almost dying,” he replies.

It’s not. This… affection. He is enamored with you. It’s been so long since you felt that skipping flutter. It’s been so long that you had forgotten what it felt like. That unsure leap of faith into the dark chasm. Hoping, needing someone to catch you. The easy familiarity, and the sore feet from keeping yourself up alone, suddenly relieved by someone who could have the excuse to do so without question. 

The candlelight flickers across his light, light hair. You would finally have an excuse to touch it. There would be someone there. Someone that you already care so much about. Someone so passively handsome. You could permit yourself to think of him that way, too. It would be so simple.

“Dave,” you say.

He jumps, and his eyes flicker skittishly to yours.

“Do that… again,” you request.

Surprise fills his face, and he splutters. “You’re already looking pale,” he protests, and you wish you were strong enough to reach up and grab him for yourself. 

“Dave Strider, don’t make me repeat myself,” you scold firmly, and he’s laughing even as you’re coughing.

Disbelieving laughs, a few giggles, and he’s covering his mouth with one hand. 

He does as you ask.

Before you can scold him a second time, he’s bending forward, and pressing his lips sweetly to yours. 

Oh so, sweetly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! A few announcements:  
> -it's nearly done! 2 more chapters and an epilogue for me to write will round it off at 32 chapters in total!  
> -There's now art in chapter one! Done lovingly by the lovely WanderingDragon, who has also done and will do more art that will most likely not be featured but you should check her out anyway! She has a new blog located [here!](http://helpimalostandconfusedartist.tumblr.com/)  
> -There's also a piece of new fanart by tumblr user Bigbadsharkdad! [ here! ](http://bigbadsharkdad.tumblr.com/post/146779769235/a-karkat-from-royalrastafariannaynays)  
> -All fanart that I've seen and reblogged can be seen in my in name and in deed tag on my blog and it's all so GOOD check it out!! (you might need to scroll a little sorry!)  
> -I have a new sidefic in planning for babby dave, and how he met aradia. if you want to see anything in particular let me know here or tumblr!  
> -love u all!


	25. EPISODE 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The courting process begins.

After that…

It’s a strange thing, what you have with Dave Strider.

It’s something like exhilaration, blind to everything else in your life, and so strange. 

It’s hard to think about your life being in danger, or your leg, or anything else that makes you feel bad on a regular basis. For the first week, at least. The rush and the skipping beat of your heart drowns out all other troubles for now.

For that good week, something about it feels… not quite like you’re just friends, but not quite like you’re romantically involved, either. It’s nothing like what you had with Sollux, and you’re pretty woefully inexperienced otherwise. There should be no mistakes made about the nature of relationships, either. Being romantically involved doesn’t necessarily make you closer to a person. So you can’t rightly say that you’re closer than you were when you were just friends. 

You’re getting a little lost in your own thoughts. 

It’s awkward for a while, at any rate, how you interact with Dave. Not too awkward, but you feel as if there’s some kind of unspoken drone between you two, filling the silences that used to be comfortable. Dave gets a dusting of blush across his nose every time you manage to catch his eye. Like he still can’t believe he first kissed you, back when you were injured. 

For that first week after you managed to recover enough to stand, you still weren’t able to move around too much. It took you only two days after you first woke to get back to some of your daily activities. Instead of working, you mainly sat and watched, and spent time reading while leaning against Kankri’s side. In those two days after Dave kissed you, there had been many more. Mostly on your forehead or cheek. One on your ear, one just aft of your mouth. Three on the palm of your hand.

And then, in the week after, while you’re still getting the curse out of your system, there are none. As if Dave, upon losing his captive upon which to lay his lips, has decided to get too embarrassed to kiss you anymore. 

But then, one night, you and Dave are walking on the beach. Aradia is walking beside you, and leaps off after a particularly large crab. Dave’s free hand is swinging between you two, and you’re tempted to reach out and grab it. You’re almost there, reaching out with a finger to snag his.

And who else to show up but Dirk fucking Strider. He and Damara land in front of you and Dave. And they stop, and stare, for what feels like eons. Dirk spies your index finger, frozen in your unsubtle handholding attempt. And he turns his head to stare at Dave. Dave, who is covering his face with a palm, and very stubbornly not looking at his brother. 

Dirk hops out of his saddle and onto the cool sand, and whacks Dave upside the head.

 

* * *

 

After that, Dave courts you properly. Nervously. It feels incredibly unnecessary to be on the receiving end of. But then, you know absolutely nothing about wooing or courting people. It’s something that always escaped you, despite your proclivity for romantic fiction and poetry. 

Dave keeps to the same things as before, but now, his touch lingers, his eyes glue to yours, his ears pink when he smiles and sometimes he’ll give you a kiss on the cheek at the door. He likes to bring you lunch when you’re working, sometimes from Jane’s, sometimes just an apple along with his own. Despite your mostly blank or irritated expressions, he still grins stupidly when you react to anything he does. Occasionally you find yourself smiling back as he leaves, and goes to do his other daily things.

While you eat, he sits very close to you. 

The three-day planting festival comes, and goes. There’s dancing, celebration, wine that makes you giddy to drink, and pointed looks from both Dave’s siblings and his friends.

 

* * *

 

Three weeks into this new relationship, he holds your hand, just on top of the bench while you sit above Jane’s late at night. When you lift your fingers to wind into his, he babbles about terrible things and jokes until he has to leave. It’s an hour, and it makes you grin a little to think about his shoulder, stiff, careful not to move even while Aradia sits a short distance away and gives him the strangest looks. 

Your mother sees you sharing a slow, chaste kiss that night. The first proper one since you’d gotten back on your feet. Once you’re through the door, she reams you for not telling her that you were courting Dave. It forces something strained into you. But at the same time, it relaxes you. So she’s happy for you, then. You get a lecture, and then a strict instruction on taking Dave ‘something that he likes, he’s a nice young man and you should treat him as such!’

So, one night several days later, when you’ve arranged to meet at Jane’s after Dave visits the orphanage with Kankri and Aradia, you go to that small clearing of his. There, you find the flowers you had seen the previous summer. They’re just starting to bloom. Small, white, with the tiniest yellow centers. And they smell so fresh, like butter and the sea. 

You gather all you can, cradle them to your chest, and find your way back. Dave is waiting for you, and you hand him your fistful of small blossoms. You try to smile, but the nerves get you in the end, and only one part of your mouth flinches upwards. 

Dave holds them for about a full two minutes, before sitting and laying the stems gently across his napkin. You sit next to him, a bold move for you. He stares at the flowers all evening. He grabs your hand in one of his. He rubs his thumb across your palm for almost an hour. Then, you actually smile.

The next day, he comes to see you as you work in the forge. Dave barges in, drops the little cloth that has your lunch folded into it, and beckons you over to the bench where he tends to spend a lot of his time nowadays. He’s wise enough at this point to not come into the room, and wait for you to come to him. 

So you go, and he takes your face between both hands. And kisses you so sweetly. When you part, he’s breathing heavy, like he ran to you. And maybe he did. His eyes are hidden by his visor, but his mouth is screwed up in a smile, and yours copies his. 

“What a pretty pair you both make!” Your mother calls from across the cold well. “But pretty pairs don’t make good chains unless they’re working!” The joking scolding makes you smile more, and Dave’s face lights up. A realization hits you then, as he puts his visor up on his head. You see the smudge of grease on his cheek. Dave comes to see you for lunch almost every day, sometimes with a story or conversation for Kankri, sometimes with nothing but a meal. You’re filthy, and he still comes to see you, and wants to sit next to you. 

Your lips find his again, briefly, and he laughs against your mouth. 

“I guess it’s time for your break!” Your mother calls, again, and you hear Jake chuckling somewhere behind her. 

While you’re eating, Dave pulls a small, smooth stone out of his pocket. It’s the size of the pad of your thumb, and glowing faintly. And he hands it to you, of all things. 

“It’s one of Rose’s less effective experiments. Supposed to turn colors depending on the weather. It doesn’t work half the time,” he explains. 

It’s currently green, a color between fresh grass and the light leaves of a red oak tree during the summer. “It’s beautiful,” you tell him. And it is. It turns bluish in your palm, and is just so slightly warm. A cloud goes overhead, and you look up. Ah, rain is coming. Fascinating. 

Just so, you get distracted, running your fingers over the lightly lined surface, feeling the texture so delicately in your hand. You could fashion it into something. You’re not very good at stone setting yet, but it would not look amiss in the handle of a comb, or the forward flap of a bag. You slide it into the pouch on your belt. Dave smiles.

 

* * *

 

Two weeks pass in a similar kind of vague happiness. 

You get a huge sore on the end of your thigh from the prosthetic leg, and have to sit for two days with salve on the half-exposed flesh. The time is spent whittling a small deer carving for Kankri. He admits to you that he still finds himself inclined toward the little objects. But he tells you that it’s actually while it’s made by hand that it is truly imbued with what he gets from it. So, effectively, anything made by hand works?

Kankri improves, as well, slowly but surely. He at least improves enough to tease you about Dave, and how childish you are around him nowadays. He helps stoke the forge fire for a high-heat metal one day. He preens gracefully at the compliments over how quickly the job got done with his help. 

The path to the orphanage is something he was able to memorize already, even after only being there a few times. He is able to get an understanding of the location of people on his way. And he goes to visit them. One afternoon he comes back talking about M, and what a startlingly good conversationalist he is. _He is especially consummate at communicating with images. Very intelligent young boy. Very kind. He needs new shoes. His feet have grown._

Kankri spends less time out on the cliff, listening to the ocean, and more time talking. Not much more, but it is a difference. He spends some time at the orphanage, and even once goes to the Lalonde mansion with Dave’s guidance, to have a conversation about magic with Rose and Roxy. They make time for him, and so does Dave’s mother. Kankri comes back late that day, head hung lower than usual, with a defeated air. 

Dave shrugs when you ask him if he knows what’s wrong, and gives you a swift kiss on the cheek before flying off. You go to Kankri in the barn.

_We got into a discussion about my healing,_ he admits to you, and you immediately know why he was disappointed. But he doesn’t seem entirely sad, so you wait. 

_They informed me that with my magic, and perhaps Rose’s, I would be able to heal at least my wings more swiftly. We would need a healer, to channel the energy to the right places. But it could be done._

“Well, that’s great news,” you say. You can feel another clause on it though. You feel the ‘but’ coming before it’s even said to you. 

His voice is like slowly seeping magma through the cracks of the earth. _It would still take at least a year to store enough energy. And then… once I could fly, where would I go? I cannot see._

The hopelessness in his statement washes over you. 

_I have no rider to help my blindness, and I do not think I could take another. Not unless they were a perfect match. Your father was my perfect match. A Seeing type, a Blood magic type, altogether. Maybe a half match would be fine._

He sinks into his hay. _I have gotten ahead of myself. I should not have asked them so soon._

Kankri’s words are shuttered to you, hiding his feelings. There is nothing you can do, nothing you can say. Everything seems so dim, now, for some reason. 

“Is there anything I can do?” You ask. 

_I would like to be left alone._

 

* * *

 

The next morning, you’re ahead on work for the week. Mother tells you to go to town and visit the Maryams. ‘You haven’t been there in a good while. And take them the delivery I promised. Those shelves won’t hang themselves.’ And so you do. You invite Kankri along with you, hoping that seeing the children will cheer him up. Instead, he lays with his head just inside the workshop door. 

_I would prefer to stay indoors. The walking from yesterday has made my feet ache._

You take that answer. Rubbing your fingers into the base of one of his horns makes him relax a little into the dirt floor. A brief notion of gratitude is channeled to you through his connection to your mind.

It’s mid-morning when you arrive at the Maryams’ home. Most of the children are assisting with the planting season, so there are only a few running around outside who greet you when you walk up. You’re clean, for once, having not worked in the forge before coming out. The hemp bag containing your tools and the brackets for the shelves is slung over one shoulder, and you have a small tin bucket of long nails in the other hand. 

When you walk in the door, which is sitting open to let the breeze circulate, you hear voices coming from the kitchen. 

“Oh yeah, man, Karkat is the best. Certainly the literal best ever.”

You stop.

That’s Dave. Is that what he thinks of you? It’s absurd to doubt him at this point, since he’s courting you. But the small part of you that makes decisions fills with an immature desire to know. 

“Oh really?” Kanaya’s voice hums over the chatter. 

“Yeah. It took me so long to realize. He’s so cool, and he’s got these amazing muscles. Like a warhorse. He could lift an entire tree, he’s so strong. And he’s so tough too.”

“Tough like leather, or tough like he would split up a bar fight?” Kanaya asks. You hear a silly tone in her voice. 

Dishes clink in the sink, and you hear the snip of scissors. Kanaya must be working on a project while Dave does chores.

“Both. Except knowing his grouchiness, he’d probably also be starting the bar fight. He’d win it, too. I haven’t practiced fighting with him yet, and I kinda don’t want to. He’s really good. Probably have me face down in the dust in seconds. Karkat doesn’t think he’s that smart, but he’s smart enough to be able to fight like that without constant training. And he can read and write well. And his magic feels so good to be around. I can’t see it, but it’s warm and inviting. Weird, huh.”

“Hmm.”

The sound of the broom being taken down and swept across the floor catches your attention. Even as your face fills with heat, you step closer to the door so that you’ll still be able to hear. 

“Yeah, I don’t talk about him a lot at all, I don’t think. But I figured since you know him too, you’d agree with me. No one else will listen to me talk like this. He’s so handsome despite his scar, too, right? I think the scar actually enhances the whole… thing, that he’s got going on. And when he smiles, it’s like the best thing. The very best thing.”

“Hmmm,” Kanaya repeats.

“Even when he’s insulting me, he does it with so much conviction, too. As if he’s really gotta let me know when I’m being a shitstain. But he doesn’t really mean it, neither. ‘Cause the next thing he says’ll be something about how I actually did a good job, you insufferable nutcase.”

“Is that a direct quote?” Kanaya asks, slightly muffled. Are there needles in her mouth?

“Nah, but it’s pretty predictable. He gets nicer, too. He don’t talk much, but when he does, there’s been more of it that’s good instead of bad. At least directed at me. And he cares so much about other people. On the outside it doesn’t even look like he gives a shit. But he does, man, he cares so much.”

“Yes he does,” Kanaya agrees. 

You get close enough to the cracked door that you end up pushing it open. It creaks, and you briefly resent not bringing grease for it. And then you look up. 

Dave is standing there, mid-sweep, right in front of your face. And his skin is turning so cherry-red that you’re getting concerned. But, now he knows you were here. His eyes are stark white on the pink of his skin. 

“Hey… Karkat. How’s it goin’,” he says. Not asks, he says it. 

You realize that you’re smiling. And you lean forward to plant your lips softly on his cheek. The skin under your attention feels even hotter before you pull away. 

“It’s going well,” you tell him. Adrenaline spikes through you, and you add, “Hearing good things about myself is always welcome.”

Dave goes purple. Kanaya, at the table, is laughing into her sewing. 

“Are you here to apply the new brackets?” She asks. You lean back from Dave, and nod at her. The smile drips from your face naturally.

She points you to the shelves to be applied. They’re in the kitchen, for the new plates and bowls. The planks have been leaned against the wall, and the area has been cleared. 

“Thank you kindly, Kanaya,” you tell her, and walk across the room to work. 

Make no mistake, the room feels very awkward after that. You make small talk with Kanaya, while Dave silently finishes sweeping and even mops the floor. You finish the job within an hour. Kanaya offers you stew, and you sit at the table across from her, and watch her work while you eat. Dave sits next to you and eats, as well. 

Kanaya gives you anecdotes about the children while you have lunch.

“One of them had their arm halfway into the sugar jar, and then pointed to the other one and said: ‘he made me do it’,” Kanaya is telling you as she sews a long stitch into the edge of some gauzy material. “At which point the second child started shaking his head so vigorously, I thought it might come right off.”

“So I look at the first child and there is fear in her eyes. Elbow-deep in sugar, frown on her face that her naïve seven-summers-old plan has not worked out to her advantage. And she says, ‘I will not apologize for art’.” 

Dave snickers as Kanaya starts laughing out loud. “I almost hung the child up by her jumper!” She says, trying to contain herself. “It was too funny, but I couldn’t laugh, because then she would be learning the wrong thing.”

You nod, drinking the last of your soup. 

“So I –”

“Hey Karkat!” Dave blurts. 

Kanaya’s eyes widen a little at the interruption, but she doesn’t say anything. You turn to glare halfheartedly at Dave. “That was rude. What do you want?” You ask him. 

He looks guilty for all of a second, but quickly recovers, as is his skillset. 

“Would you like to go for a walk after this?” He asks. 

Your eyebrow quirks, and you nod. “Sure,” you tell him. And wave at Kanaya, gesturing for her to finish her story. Before she continues, her eyes linger on Dave, who is practically vibrating with excitement. But she easily slides back into her tale.

 

* * *

 

After you finish your stew, you leave the Home. Kanaya waves you off, thanking you for the company and the work done. The hemp bag now has the nails in it, and is slung back across your shoulders. Aradia is walking beside you, most likely making idle chat with Dave.

You get five feet before something hits your hand. Your first instinct is that it’s your bag or Aradia’s tail, so you shove it away and continue walking. 

And then realization strikes you like that arrow weeks and weeks ago. 

Looking over at Dave garners you confirmation for your realization. His hand is clenched at his side, and his face is pinked and looking incredibly frustrated. Oh. Was he trying to-

Reaching out and taking Dave’s fist in your fingers is simple. He doesn’t look at you, and keeps walking, but a tiny smile finds his lips. His fist uncurls, and then re-curls through your own. The palm in your grip is a little sweaty, but smooth and soft. There are callouses on the insides of the fingers, knuckles worn and dry from working with a sword in his hands. Maybe you should ask him to spar with you. That might be fun. It would be interesting to know his skills when not taken by surprise. 

You’ve been out of practice, too. Doing a few forms in the morning before work doesn’t get you much of anywhere. 

Dave’s thumb rubs the back of your hand, and your mind fizzles to blank for a minute before you can think again. Dave chatters senselessly, falling back into a kind of comfortable rolling ramble about nothing in particular. 

When you near the market, hand-in-hand, Dave stops. When you look at what he’s looking at, you see a stall selling wine and some cheeses. Whatever it is about people that make wine also making things that have to age for a long time, you would love to know. 

Dave is quiet for a long minute, obviously thinking, before he glances over at you. His head just barely tilts, and by how his hand clenches yours, he’s trying not to act nervous. 

“You want to grab some wine and head back to the Roost? It’s a change of venue from Jane’s.” 

His almost unsure tone softens something in your heart for a brief, regrettable moment, and you let yourself crack a smile at him. Honestly, the crowds were getting to be a bit much, anyway. It’s easy to be distracted by Dave, but there’s still a reason you don’t spend a lot of time in town.

“I would love to get out of here,” you tell him, shooting for utmost sincerity. He takes it and runs with it. 

The wine is bought, Aradia is called, and you fly up to the Roost. 

Dirk is there, working on something in his corner of the loft. You can’t tell what it is, but it makes you wonder what Damara’s affinity is. Dave unsaddles Aradia, and she lays herself out in the patch of sunlight created by the open double doors. Upstairs you go, Dave following behind with the cloth holding the cheese, and the bottle of wine. You think he got dandelion wine, but you’re not sure.

Dave closes the curtain on Dirk’s smirking face. You’re glad it’s a thick curtain, and there’s a good bit of distance between the two corners of the room. It’s not like you want him to hear your every word. 

Two small goblets are pulled from nowhere, somehow spectacularly clean. While Dave pours, you put down your things, sit on the windowsill and glance around the space. It’s a little messy, but cleaner than the last time you were here. There must have been some tidying up. Was he hoping that much that you would say yes to coming? The drawings that were once spread messily on the floor are in a neat stack, and all bottles of ink or paint have been closed. 

Lightly, you rub the edge of the prosthetic. It catches Dave’s eye. 

“Would you like to take it off while we’re here?” He asks gently. You’ve taken it off around him several times before, and you think it over in your head. You won’t be going anywhere anytime soon. But it would be so much work to take it off completely. 

Besides. It would be a little inappropriate to just remove your pants, now. Regarding the state of your relationship. It’s strange how comfortable you would have been doing it before, now that you think back on it. 

And of course, thinking back on it makes you wonder just why it was so easy to flip over into this type of relationship. As opposed to simply staying friends. It feels almost like there was a natural progression. With your past relationship, it was more of an act of desperation that started the whole thing. 

Dave is waiting for your answer. 

“No, I’m fine,” you tell him, and take the glass he offers you. 

The summer wine is cool on your throat as you sip. Dave sips as well, and sits on the floor near your bent knee. It’s comfortably quiet for some time, and you’re glad that quality of your relationship wasn’t lost between you. 

“So, uh…” Dave starts, and leaves off, scratching his chin. 

“Hmm?” 

“Could you uh…” He hesitates again.

“Out with it, Strider,” you grumble. Good-naturedly, you hope. 

“Could you read me some poetry?” He asks. 

You look at him, then, and his face is carefully open. 

“Why would you want me to do that?” You ask. It’s a sincere question. Like you mentioned earlier, you’re abysmal at romance. 

Dave looks a little embarrassed for a moment, before he mumbles something. You didn’t catch it. 

“I didn’t catch that. Wanna speak up?” You demand. His face turns red again. Good light, he’s going to die if he keeps blushing like that. The rest of his body will fail due to lack of blood circulation. 

“I like your voice,” he mumbles, a little louder. And downs the rest of his glass in three gulps. “And I know you like poems.”

It’s your turn to feel embarrassed. Impulse, and adrenaline again, make you react. 

“Well sure. Do you have any books?” 

You barely get the last word out before Dave is scrambling to find something for you to read. He goes to his small bookshelf and pulls out a thin volume with a soft leather backing. There’s what you think is a bellflower pattern embossed on the covers, and your heart skips a beat. 

You hand him your glass in exchange for the book, and fold yourself into a more comfortable sitting position in the nest of his bed. Dave sits where you had been on the windowsill, cross-legged. He hands you your glass, filled back to the top with the sweet wine, and you open the pages. Dave fidgets for a moment, taking his stiffer top shirt, stole, and shoes off to get comfy. So he thinks he’ll be there for awhile, then. You do the same, toeing off your boot, and throwing your vest and belt over it.

“Do you have a preference?” You ask him, and he shakes his head. Apparently he’s ready to hang onto your every word. 

The book falls open to a page about a third of the way in. The paper of it is a little faded and yellowed on the edges from use. Where did this book come from? Does Dave like poetry? He doesn’t seem like the type. 

For a good while you read, the wine heady in your senses, and the sun gradually descending. Dave leans his head against the side of the window frame, listening. It doesn’t make your throat ache, to constantly speak. Some of the poems are long, and some are short. Most just praise the flowers, the environment, or the general splendor. Some speak more vaguely of romance, loss, or gain. After each one, you take a deep breath, and soak it in before moving on. The whole thing makes you remember your youth. When poetry was still something you enjoyed to read, and when it was something you used to woo others. 

And then, you reach a page. It is dog-eared, and worn, a rip in one corner hastily patched with a very small amount of glue. Curious. When you begin to read, Dave straightens minutely, then sighs. 

“Do I compare you to the night?  
Implication goes unspoken—  
That were I to call you by the moon’s moniker  
My meaning would not be mistaken. 

For you are beauty, like the moon  
Dear soft and bright; immaculate.  
Surrounded by stars, and not too soon,  
Made to receive my love, and yet – 

I must compare you to the day,  
And this, not just for the design,  
The Light has given unto you,  
To make you soft, and features fine. 

For if you are as the day seems,  
Warm, and light, and full of life,   
I must submit to my daydreams,  
And your attention I must kife.

For either one, I must only  
Have you but for half the day.  
And on the eclipse, it will solely  
Be unto me to light your way.

For I must have you, I must, my love,  
No matter what the price must be.  
I would sail to the stars and back  
If you would only be with me.”

Dave’s eyes, when you look up, are full of those same stars. His mouth rests slightly agape, and his hands are limp on his lap. It’s still for a moment, and then he leans forward. 

“I’m gonna throw myself at you now, okay?” He says, and you’re glad for the warning. He telegraphs his movements, and he doesn’t quite leap so much as moves forward very quickly. But he does end up letting his weight fall on you as he pushes you back into the mess of blankets and pillows. 

The volume gets dropped to the floor. Some kind of happy noise you’ve never heard yourself make escapes your lips as he lays his mouth upon yours. The effects of the wine long wore off for both of you, but you’re still weirdly giddy as you wrap your arms around Dave’s neck and back. 

He’s smiling into your lips, and sinking down to cover you with himself. It feels safe, protected, and he giggles under his breath. The fading light from the sun’s descent forms a halo around his light hair. This close, you can see every light freckle on his nose. 

These kisses are longer this time, more drawn out. You gasp for breath, and he gives it to you, taking your lower lips between his teeth and pulling gently on it. It’s so quiet, between you. There are no words. His hands slide under your broader shoulders on the bed, forearms making a home where you can rest your arms. Your palms flatten against his chest. For several minutes, you lay back, staring into the red depths of his eyes as his fingertips lightly massage the tense muscles of your neck. It’s not awkward, like it should be. Just silence, just staring. 

Somewhere around the third minute of staring, you release a deep sigh, and close your eyes. The full weight of your shoulders relaxes onto Dave’s wrists and hands. He makes a pleased noise, and leans down to brush a gentle kiss across your lips. Instinctually, you tilt your head and open your mouth.

Dave devours you. He starts slow, kissing you open-mouthed before sliding his slick tongue in briefly alongside yours. It feels strange. But for some reason, you want more of it. You slide your hands up his chest, and to the open neck of his looser long-sleeved shirt. He grunts into your mouth as you pull at his neck, trying to get closer. 

The kisses get more heated, then. The air between the two of you feels humid and light, and your eyes close. It strikes you that you haven’t spoken in awhile. But you have nothing to say. Soft gasps echo in your mouths, and noises of appreciation are muffled by urgent lips. Dave pushes you even further into the nest, and corners of blankets get tangled in your legs as you wrap your bare foot around his calf. 

After what feels like forever of this ardent kissing, you have to pull back for breath. Dave is grinning, spit slicking his smile and rose punched on the tops of his cheekbones. You can’t help it, and grin yourself. Something in Dave’s eyes turns to fire, then, and you feel a shift in the mood.

Dave moves his head back down, and for a moment you’re worried that he’s going to kiss you again when you’re still struggling to breathe. 

Instead he does something much worse, and kisses your neck. 

At first the gesture makes you freeze. That part of you is so vulnerable, so vital. The weak spot of weak spots. And he places his lips there so gently, just below your chin. It’s so gentle that you can barely feel it, and you make a small noise of complaint. Why? It’s not like you want him to kiss your neck. 

Dave laughs, and presses down more firmly. He’s guessing at what your reaction meant, and he ended up guessing correctly. When you sigh, the only thing you find yourself capable of doing, he licks the spot just beneath your ear. 

It makes your hips twitch. The one to freeze this time is Dave, and then he does it again. The same reaction is pulled out of you. Dave laughs breathily on your skin. Suddenly you get tense, your entire body clenched like a coiled spring. It’s absurd. And angering. Why should he get to manipulate you like this?

And he does it again, this time adding a short little nibble of his teeth. It makes you gasp in his hair, and forget your anger. After a brief pause, Dave shifts. His body moves away from yours, and so does his warmth and weight. You’re about to open your mouth to complain, when he slots his thigh more firmly between yours. 

Oh. 

“Okay?” Dave is asking you, and you look up. His eyes are almost fully open, genuinely inquiring. 

You nod. 

Dave resumes the assault on your neck, then. His tongue runs up a scar you got from training camp, his teeth clamp down shortly on a bite mark you got from a wolfhound on the battlefield, set into the meat of your shoulder. These make your hips rut up again, and gasp in breaths near his ear. Dave moves his thigh, pressing it up into your groin, and you groan out loud. 

Your prosthetic catches on one of the soft furs of the bedcovers, and – 

“You guys good, or should I leave?” Dirk calls over. He’s laughing.

Dave stops immediately, making a strangled noise like he’d forgotten his brother was there. You certainly had. 

Dave buries his face in the pillow behind your neck, and he removes his hands from beneath your shoulders. He screams into the pillow. Not the ideal situation for such an action. 

Frowning, frustrated, robbed of your good time, you cover Dave’s closest ear. 

“Well, that was rude,” you shout back, and Dirk laughs even harder. 

“Karkat, please don’t,” Dave whispers in your ear, but you hear a nice little giggle on the edge of it. 

“Just wonderin’,” Dirk says, then. His laughter fades after a moment. 

Dave’s body is so heavy on yours as you both let yourselves calm down, but you don’t mind. 

It’s quiet again, for awhile, and you notice that the sun has completely disappeared over the edge of the horizon. It’s mostly dark in the room. 

“Will you stay?” Dave mumbles into the side of your head. 

Mother won’t worry if you don’t return tonight. Neither will Kankri.

“Yes,” you answer him. 

Without asking anything else of you, Dave stands. He loosens the ties on his trousers, for sleep, and toes off his socks. The cuffs of his sleeves are unbuttoned, and he lets his medallion fall out of the front of his shirt as he bends over to move his things to a more organized location. 

You take the opportunity to do the same, without getting up.

When he looks back down at you, he notices you’ve left your leg on. Again, with the pants thing. His eyebrows furrow. 

“Isn’t that uncomfortable to sleep in? I can help you take it off, if you like. So you don’t have to get up,” he offers. There’s only concern in his face, and no interest or ulterior motive. He’s seen your leg many a time before. He’s seen the extent of the scars, and the stump of it. 

“I…” you drop off. It’s not so simple, is it? It would be very uncomfortable to sleep in. You’ve done it before, and woke up with back cramps. 

“I suppose it needs to come off,” you admit. “The pain from leaving it on is a lot more than you’d expect.”

Relief or something like it crosses Dave’s brow. “I can turn if you’d like me to not see,” he offers, and it’s all you needed. 

“No, it’s fine. I could…” you hesitate. “I could use the help, though.”

Dave smirks. “Not too proud or decent to let me see your thighs?” He reaches down, to pull on your pant leg. You hear the clinking sound of Dirk snuffing his candles, and then the room is only lit by the dim light from outside. 

“Just get it over with, Dave,” you tell him. And it’s his name that does it. His face goes soft, even in the dark, and he gently tugs the legs of your trousers until they come off. Your undergarments are still there, so you preserve that modicum of decency. Dave’s cool fingers are gentle as they move up your thigh, detaching buckles and unwrapping the leather from your skin. 

His palms cross the callous on the end of your thigh from the prosthetic, and his nails lightly scrape your belly as he undoes the wide belt that holds the whole thing onto your body. 

Dave bends down and presses his lips to the mostly unfeeling scar tissue on the leg. You don’t feel it, but you see it. The gesture makes your heart pound almost out of your chest. 

You get a hand in Dave’s shirt, and pull him back to your eye level. 

He smiles at you. You kiss him gently, and he kisses you back. Light butterfly touches of lips on skin, fingertips tracing jaws, until you fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!! Hope everyone liked that! I told ya it was gonna be happy eventually, okay??? It only took me... two dozen chapters... heh
> 
> Anyways! I wrote another little sidefic about baby dave and how he met aradia! **[GO READ IT](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7450591)**
> 
> I'm gonna try to post up the next chapter mid-week, and if I get to it I'll post the other one on Sunday! but I just moved yesterday, and I have a trip this weekend so we'll have to see! 
> 
> the poem in the middle is written by me, and im not that great at poetry!
> 
> also! so far, everything is written except the epilogue. so you guys got... well im too tired to do math so it's gonna be 31 chapters and an epilogue in total :) love y'all and hope y'all are having a good summer.


	26. EPISODE 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little couple paragraphs of (mostly non-descriptive) nsfw toward the end, just a warning for y'all.

You wake half-snuggled in layers of plush cloth, and pillowed in blankets. 

Your eyes flicker open. The ceiling is unfamiliar.

This isn’t your house. 

Were you captured? Where is the enemy? You stay perfectly still and listen. You’re ready to fight, frozen to a deathly state of unmoving, even with your arms stretched over your head and your torso exposed to attack. The weight of your leg suggests that they’ve taken your prosthetic. Weakened you.

Then you hear the scratching of something on paper. A thick sound, brittle, but smoother than a pen’s metal tip. 

Confused, you turn your head, focusing on breathing evenly to ready yourself, and…

Dave is there. 

Oh. You fell asleep at Dave’s Roost.

He’s… his hands are… he’s drawing? 

Your heartbeat slows to a more sedate pace.

The morning light is casting a blue film over the room. You’re glad that it doesn’t shine directly in. 

One of Dave’s feet is propped up on the side of the bed. He sits against the windowsill, resting a board and a sheet of paper on his bent knee. He looks up at you after drawing a few lines, as if checking something, and you unfreeze. 

His face is so blessedly open and on display this early. He slouches, limbs loose.

Gentle hands pause with their activity, and he smiles at you. 

“Hey,” he says, so softly. “Dirk is already out, he left us some fruit.”

The blue morning light on the side of his face softens the curve of his neck, and makes his eyes an almost surreal shade of soft violet. You’re reminded of what he said before, about his eyes matching Rose’s. 

He lifts up what he’s holding in his hands, to show you. It’s a drawing of… it’s you. The unfamiliarity of seeing yourself makes you suck a breath in through your nose. 

Stretching, you sit up. Dave hands the drawing to you, and you don’t bother straightening your shirt. 

It is very good, and shows clearly how talented he is. He’s captured the light so well. His shadows are dark in all the right places, and he’s made you look so soft. 

“Is it okay that I drew you? I haven’t done it before. I know that can be a little creepy,” he murmurs, with a little laugh. “I can kill it if you want me to.”

The drawing has caught an open expression on your face that you’ve never seen before. It’s so gentle, so calm and at peace. The corner of your mouth looks almost tilted into a smile from the angle. You feel your face heating. 

“It’s beautiful. Thank you,” you manage. “I don’t… mind. I don’t mind you drawing me.”

Dave’s eyes are lit up like strengthening embers when you catch his gaze again. He takes the drawing from you, and places it on the floor before crawling back over to you on the bed. 

Knees straddling your thighs, he presses a light kiss into your lips. His fingertips find and stroke from your wrists to your elbows, barely-there touches that tingle on your skin. 

“I didn’t think it would be a good idea to stay next to you,” he explains, chuckling. “Noting your surprise the last time I woke you up.”

For a split second, you let yourself fill with guilt over that. Even though it was so many months ago, nearly a year, now. But his laughter is almost contagious when it passes through your mouth and lungs, and you find yourself laughing, too. 

“Yes, probably a good idea to avoid that,” you tell him. Because he’s perfectly correct. 

Dave sits up, on your lower belly. There are more than two blankets between your own stomach and his backside, which you’re grateful for. You’re still a fairly young man in body, despite everything, and it would be completely embarrassing for your morning arousal to become too noticeable. 

The location at which he’s sitting is uncomfortable in more ways than just that, however. 

As he leans down, hands running a teasing pattern up your chest, you find yourself grimacing. Yep. Not favorable. 

“As fond as I am of you, and as much as I would love to have my lips on you for the entire day,” you say, and he pauses even as his eyes darken. As if just realizing that maybe he had some kind of shame, or restraint, at some point in his life. “My bladder has some pressing matters to attend to.”

Dave looks a mix between speculative, embarrassed, and disappointed, which is not really a combination you want to understand right now. Carefully he turns and rolls off the side of the bed, immediately going to fetch your prosthetic.

“You want help putting this on? I assume you don’t want help getting to the latrine,” he says, walking back to you. 

“I don’t need help putting it on,” you say, a little creakily, and toss the blankets off of your lower half. It immediately feels entirely too chilly, and you shiver. Dave catches notice from where he’s arranging the buckles into an easy-access location.

And then his eyes immediately go to your undergarments. And away, just as quickly. 

“Are you a maiden?” you joke, to cover up your own embarrassment. His eyes come back to yours, and he lays the leg in an easy-to-reach position. You only fasten the main belt about your waist, and the buckles necessary for a short walk, before shifting yourself off the bed. 

“No?” He laughs, face screwing up into a small, exasperated frown before he just points at the door. Dave’s face is entirely pink again, and with his casual shirt loose at the top, it’s easy to see that he also blushes down past his collarbone. It’s incredibly endearing. “Just go, and watch out for Aradia. She sleeps under that mess of blankets and it’s easy to step on her tail.” 

On your way back upstairs from taking care of business, you find the fruit basket Dirk must have left for you. You take it back up to Dave, and find him sitting back on the edge of the bed. It’s simple work to sit back down, remove the metal leg from your own, and get back in the rumpled pile of blankets. Dave hums, kisses you on the corner of your mouth, and picks up a plum to eat. 

When you lean back against the wall, Dave tilts himself sideways into your chest. His breath is warm on your neck, and the back of one of his hands touches your right thigh. It’s second nature for you to grab a blanket and pull it over the mutilated left leg. Dave huffs a breath, and continues eating his plum while you crunch into an apple. 

“Do you have any pressing plans to get back to today?” he’s asking, then, shifting to drape the hand over your knee. There’s still scarring on that leg, and it already makes you a little apprehensive to have him paying attention to it. But you let it happen. His finger traces the old meandering and puckered whorl of one of the largest patches, just inside your knee. 

You think for a minute. Mother would not miss you terribly much if you did not come. She would have her suspicions about where you were, anyway. They would most likely be correct suspicions. She has Jake to help her in the forge, today. It’s very possible that you would just be crafting nails all day, and that sounds incredibly boring. At least, compared to spending more time with Dave. 

Which is what he’s sounding like he’s asking. 

“I would love to just spend at least the morning here,” you tell him. 

There’s a little huff of a laugh, and you know he must be smiling. Good answer, then. When his lips touch your neck, then, you don’t freeze like you did the night before. At least not for the same reason. The vulnerability isn’t a negative feeling, anymore, and it’s always felt like a safe space in this little corner of the Roost. 

“I would… really like that,” he murmurs. 

As opposed to letting things get heated again, Dave pulls right back and takes another bite of his plum. It's gone in a few moments, and he sits cross-legged in front of you as you finish the apple in your hand. His tongue darts out to get a drip of juice from the corner of his mouth. You let yourself watch. 

He watches you watch. 

He watches as you do the same, catching a drop of the sweet apple’s juice before it can draw a sugary line down your chin. You watch him watch. 

There’s so much watching, it’s probably a spectator event. More watching than Dave’s races. 

_No, that’s ridiculous._

Though, abruptly, you find yourself frowning. Right. Dave’s races. He’s… very famous. Isn’t he? Right?

Dave is frowning, too. He still looks attractive. Until just now, you’d never really considered the bridge between you. He’s very handsome, athletic, has many adoring fans. Across the country. And no giant scars running across his entire face. You’d never been particularly self-conscious about your looks. You’re aware that you were fairly handsome to the young women of your village, if their shy advances and hints were anything to note. But compared to Dave… he’s successful, clean-faced… he has all four of his limbs. _And all of his nerve endings._

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asks. Tiredness floods your bones. He’s so… out of your small pond. Just like that poem. He’s the sun. The ocean. 

It’s not a huge amount of disappointment. It’s not such a gigantic wave of emotion that you’re crippled by it. It just… makes you feel tired. For some reason, this man wants you. Does he want all of you, though? His fingers are still tracing that one section of burn scar. If you focus hard enough, you can feel the individual fingers. If you focus hard enough, you can feel more than the bare pressure of it. 

And then his hand is gone. It touches your face, and you can definitely feel it. The ends of his nails just barely digging in, the pads of his fingers warm on your stubble. 

“Why are you looking so glum?” He asks, trying again. There’s a hint of desperation there. Just a hint. It takes you more than a few seconds to realize, with a rush, that he’s thinking back to that time on the cliff. Adrenaline shoots into your heart and you flick your eyes up at him. So that he can see that you’re still here. 

“I’m here,” you say. Just to reaffirm the situation. 

His sigh of relief and subsequent smile are like the dawn behind him. “Oh thank the Light. What’s the matter?” 

You’re quiet again and he leans in, nudges your nose with his. It would be alright to tell him. The idea by itself makes you feel stupidly weak. It makes you frown and want to reject all possibility of betraying yourself. But he’s been so forthcoming and affectionate. Doesn’t he deserve the same from you?

Talking about emotions was never a thing you did with Sollux. A lingering suspicion tells you that it was because they were not the same, on his part. And that if you had betrayed your own, it would be crossing that last barrier. Things out loud were so much more certain than unspoken. 

You feel so safe here. The close walls, the sunlight, the familiar smell of the bed and old candle wax. The acrid scent of ink and the warm odor of paper. Dave’s smell, whatever that is. The heat of fire without the smoke, the leather of his saddle, the whisper of musk, the lightest aroma of fruit. 

“I…” you try. It takes more effort than you thought to admit the weakness. The feeling-lesser-than. “I feel as if we’re unmatched,” you say. 

“Un... matched?” He repeats, almost to himself. Like he’s trying to figure it out. It happens when you’re looking at him, though. As his eyes try to understand you. A candle flickers to life behind them. “You don’t think you’re good enough for me?”

It must reflect in the way your eyes and mouth tighten that he’s correct, because you don’t say a thing. 

He doesn’t, either, for a long time. 

“In what way?” He eventually asks. Genuinely confused, and curious. Why would you have to show him? He must know already. 

Rolling your eyes, you take in a deep breath. This is pathetic. Having to explain your obvious flaws to someone so flawless, someone who’s taken care of you, someone who’s stuck around when they definitely didn’t have to… it’s exhausting. 

“I am grouchy at best most days, I have no worthwhile awards or accolades, I have done some… awful things…” you trail off, take a deep breath. Dave doesn’t move. “I have a scar bisecting my face that, frankly, also bisects my attractiveness. I’m covered in scars, I’m crippled. I can’t feel much of the skin on my legs, and I’m lucky to even _have_ genitals.” Dave flinches a little, just in his eyes. But it's enough. 

Bullheaded, you look up at the ceiling and carry on blindly. “And you are so… wonderful. Like everything that is good. You have adoring fans, two working legs, family wealth, a patient mind, kindness beyond compare. Your magic is strong through Aradia, you are a very talented racer and probably fighter, you are sensible and loved. By many. Including myself, damnit. It’s incredible how you can’t see how much better you are.” Finishing, you sigh. It’s just so tiring. And you look back at Dave. His face is near glowing with how pink it has become.

Realizing what you’ve said, you feel yourself become pink as well. Or as pink as you can be, at least. 

“You love… me?” Dave asks. He looks so young, now. His jaw softens and his hands gentle on your thighs where he is kneeling over you, and he is gazing upon your face with so much wonderment. 

“I…” you stutter. Words are suddenly hard to form. 

“I’ll get to everything else in a moment. But… you _love_ me?” Dave sounds so aghast, so amazed. So delighted. 

“It w-would be hard not to,” you manage, steadily glaring at the wall, now. And you abruptly have two arms around your neck. A warm weight is pressing you down. It’s not at all unwelcome. 

“I love you too,” he murmurs on your neck, softer than a dream. 

“Which is why I have to address everything you’ve said as being completely wrong,” he says next. And you feel so much indignant anger and confusion at that point, you’re surprised you don’t lash out. 

You’re opening your mouth, to protest, and he’s pushing away from you and covering the lower half of your face with a hand. 

“Nope. None of that. We’re going to address what you’re better at, in order of grievance,” he tells you. And he stands from the bed, dropping the leg next to you before wandering away to adjust his shirt into his pants. “Let’s finally have that spar I’ve been aching for. And don’t hold back,” he commands. And he just… leaves. Dave goes downstairs, waving jauntily at you from the door. 

He’s acting uncannily like Aradia. She must have some feelers in his attitudes, too. It’s interesting. 

Even if he’s wrong, you might as well humor him. 

And… he… loves you. 

The heartwarming rush takes you off your feet as you’re attempting to fasten the leg’s belts. It’s the most elating sensation, spreading to your fingers and toes and ears and eyes. It goes all the way up and down your spine, and you find it temporarily difficult to breathe. 

As you sit, laughing a little madly into the palms of your hands, you hear a whooshing noise. And a barking laugh. Did Aradia leave? Maybe to get some peace and quiet while you spar? 

A cabinet opens and closes downstairs. You fasten the rest of the buckles carefully, and then slide your pants onto your legs. Even as you’re descending the steps and gathering your shirt into your waistband, Dave calls up. “Hand-to-hand or practice swords? Aradia left cause we’re gonna be making noise.”

“I’ve never practiced with a sword, so it would hardly be fair,” you say back. When you get to the foot of the steps, Dave is there, laying a little chaste kiss on your lips.

Some lingering doubt about the situation intensifies. Is he going to test you? Will he let you win? It’s obvious that he wants to spar so that he can prove a point. You’ll do as he wishes, but… you’re going to be pretty evenly matched, if he doesn’t pull his punches. 

“Alright, so hand-to-hand,” Dave says to you, probably confirming. The floor has been cleared except for a large flat mat when you look around, and there is ample space for sparring. 

You nod, and stretch your arms. Dave is idly twisting his ankles and knees on the cave floor, and you flex your legs as well. The metal leg makes almost no sound as you balance yourself to the weight of it. 

After stretching, Dave stands himself ten feet from you. His limbs are loose, and his face is eager. It’s so much emotion on him that you’re almost taken off guard. But no, you mustn’t be distracted or disarmed. You have a silent agreement with yourself that you’ll not be using the metal leg to kick anything. It would be unfair, you feel. 

As soon as you’re standing and looking at him, Dave lunges at you. 

You spend the first five minutes of the short fight dodging. It’s almost too easy to slip back into combat mode, and forget your earlier doubt. Before the second minute is up, you’re warmed into your stance, and analyzing your opponent. His steps are refined, practical. But they’re predictable. He has none of the randomness of a trained fighter. It’s more like a routine for him, you find. Does this strategy work against Dirk? Or is Dave testing you?

Wanting to try the testing theory, you give him a clear opening on your next dodge. His hand swings flat to the right, and you let yourself dodge openly to the left, hands raised to protect your face. But you watch him through those hands. 

Dave doesn’t go for the vulnerable spot. Dave frowns. He knows you did it on purpose. And he kicks out with his leg. It connects with your flesh limb, and knocks your knee out a little. It’s almost too easy to use the stiffness from your knee to bend forward and uppercut into his gut with a flat palm. He leaves himself wide open for it. But when he jumps back, gasping in his lost air, he has a spark in his eye. 

“You should actually fight me,” you tell him. And guilt crosses his face. But that spark is still there. He was probably unconsciously going to let you win. But you’ll piss him off until he doesn’t. 

The next time he does something like that, you’re still playing defensive. Still analyzing. He takes your opening again, but very clearly redirects from your stomach into your hip. You box him over the ear with a palm. 

He stumbles, ears very obviously ringing. And frowns again. It was your goal. This time it’s not the same, knowing frown. This time it’s stony, and he’s going to try. Hopefully. 

He doesn’t lunge this time. He backs up six feet and prowls about your radius like a lion. Stalking, waiting. You pivot to face him as he moves, hands finally lowered into something more practical. 

His eyes burn you. Heat races down your spine, and something cool settles into you that makes your eyes focus on all of his movements at once. The next time Dave comes at you, it’s with a grace you hadn’t seen before. Bare foot sliding forward, he feints one hit, and then you barely manage to dodge as he comes forward with the second. 

You go on the offensive, now. Careful analysis on his movements shows a similar predictability, but a varying pattern. He leaves little room for error, and almost too much tightness in his guard to try to hit you. But. You did say that he's predictable. He grunts when you put your full force into a wide kick down into his forearms. Guard broken, he leaps back before you can get into his space. 

Rushing forward into him, you take him wildly by surprise. While his balance is reversed from the drive backwards, you sweep your foot under his ankle and send Dave tumbling to his back. Of course, he rolls out of it and comes back into you, under your own defense. Twisting out of the way, you bring a hand back to slap him on the side of the head, and the second comes down on the back of his shoulders. 

Dave is planted into the mat, face-first. 

He stops. And groans. 

“That all you got, Strider?” You ask, teasingly. Pressing the sole of your foot into his spine. He groans again. 

“Best two out of three,” he says, holding up a hand. 

You win the next four. 

By the end of it, the both of you are suitably sore and bruised. And your confidence in yourself is brimming. You still have it. And Dave is no match for a seasoned warrior. 

Dave pulls you upstairs after the fifth fight, and it’s almost afternoon if the sun is any indication. You’re grinning proudly as he shoves you back into the bed, and neither of you really care or mention the fact that you’re covered in sweat, and you should really take off your leg. 

You roll him over, this time, and settle your weight over Dave, instead. He makes a lovely happy noise into your mouth as you kiss him. You kiss all the words out of him, all the regrets, all of that. Riding on a wave of excitement from the fight, and you love him. You love him. He loves you. 

Dave rolls you back over, and sits up. His fingers undo the ties of your trousers, and you push them off of your feet with your right toes. 

When he moves back, though, and his back arches as he removes his shirt. The metal emblem around his neck falls just to the right of the center of his chest. It shines in the light.

Everything seems to sink into a very simplified silence. 

The ties of the belt from your leg come undone under his hands. And the belts on the leg itself come undone. 

His fingers are so precise, so careful. Treating your flesh like a carefully swaddled relic, he takes off the straps and buckles and metal. 

You’re propped up on the pillows, but you can’t not watch. You can’t cover your eyes. He draws tiny patterns in the ugly tissue, takes care with the leg as he lays it on the floor. And he sinks down even further. Dave’s delicate, rough fingers draw invisible pictures on your thighs. On both sides. 

You can feel the pressure, can taste the excitement in the air. 

It’s unbearable. Such close scrutiny. 

“Now, to attend to your other grievances,” Dave whispers. 

It reminds you absurdly of something a prostitute might say. But he doesn’t touch your groin. Doesn’t even address your nether regions. 

What he does do, is place a very light, very sweet kiss on the flesh of your right ankle, where the burns begin. It’s one of the parts of your legs with the most feeling. And he pushes a very slow kiss into it. You feel a little confused. Why would he do that? The warped skin is puckered and pink even without his assistance, as he breathes gently on the very small wet spot before transcending your body. 

Every few inches of your right leg, he pauses to lay his mouth on your skin. It’s getting embarrassing. When his fingers drag over the outside of the leg, just next to the underside of your knee, the limb jumps a little. Reflexive. He kisses it again, and moves his fingers further up. 

“I want to show you,” Dave murmurs, and the sensation of the warmer breath on the receding scars on your right thigh makes you shiver. “That these scars are not as bad as you think.” 

You cover your face with one hand. For some reason, there’s a rushing in your ears. 

Dave switches thighs before he gets too far up. And you gasp painfully as he kisses the same spot he had the night before. 

“You having scars,” he says, and looks you straight in the eye as he drags his lips across the deadened skin at the end of your leg.

“Does not bother me,” he continues, dragging his mouth even further up. It separates from the scarred flesh. He kisses it, very deliberately. Clutches your thigh firmly with both hands. You feel that. 

“In the least,” he finishes. His lips linger lovingly there. You could not be further from comfortable. But you trust him. It feels like something is happening inside of your chest. Something harsh, but something welcome and soothing. 

“And your leg being missing,” Dave tells you. His eyes carve their way up your chest, your half-open shirt, to your mouth and eventually your eyes. It’s not predatory, but something else. Still hot, still making you feel as if a kingfisher is making dives in your stomach. 

“Does not make you any less in my eyes,” he says. One last kiss to your thigh, a sweep of his hand up your leg. Very suddenly, as if you’ve closed your eyes, Dave is there in front of you. His legs are on either side of your waist. His skin is so warm, framing your body as his fingers move to grip your chin. When did he get his trousers off again? You probably just didn’t feel it. 

Those damned confusing lips are on your forehead, now. Where the scar begins. The atrophied scar that runs a valley through your face itself. Dave’s medallion hitting your chest, and bouncing off of yours with a single metallic note, does nothing to distract you.

“And this scar,” he begins again. Your eyes feel hot. His breath is still sweet like fruit. 

“Does not make you any less handsome,” he continues. His lips travel down the scar in lingering pecks. Their journey leaves blooms of heat behind it. He kisses from above your eyebrow, down to your eye. He kisses the eyelid. He kisses your cheekbone, and he kisses the side of your nose. He kisses your upper lip. Something wet and warm drips off of your chin. 

“Or lovable.” 

Your eyes are blurry and prickling as he finally ends just below your mouth. Where it now only very shallowly splits your lip, the scar gets an extra kiss from Dave. 

And another, and another. Until you're both gasping breaths. You had hardly noticed yourself moving your hands to his body, but they rove needily. The pliant muscles of Dave’s back flex under your touch as you run your palms and fingertips up his sides. Dave pushes your shirt over your shoulders, and it gets thrown somewhere to your left. It doesn’t matter where. 

For a while, the only sounds are the wet sounds of lips and tongues, heat and breath. Gasps and moans and incantations of affection. His arousal against your stomach is hard and ready as you take it into your palm. Dave whines, fervid, into your mouth. Your naked skin rubs against his in the most wonderful way imaginable. You’re almost adrift in his eyes as he gazes into yours. 

Some slick is found, and preparation carefully had, and Dave’s body is so hot around you. His fingers scrabble at your chest, and make white lines on the dark that sting as he moans your name. Dave’s back arches in ecstasy when you find that wonderful place within him. Seeking thrusts meet to find it again and again, your hands on his hips giving him proper leverage to move easily. 

When Dave finds his release, he does so with his hands tangled in your hair. His panting breaths hitch, and he shudders so beautifully, so at your mercy. The spasm of his body sends you reeling over the precipice. Euphoria overtakes your eyes for more than a short moment, and you almost shout into the soft neck before you. Almost bite down on that same scar he’s had since he was a child. 

When you take back your breath, Dave is pulling you to your side with a grunt. 

Your fingers trace lines over his hips, over his back. Massage little circles into the base of his spine. He groans, but doesn’t say much else. And he’s smiling, again. His fingers trace patterns over your face and neck, running apologetically over the raised scratches on your collarbone.

It smells like sweat, and heat, and musk. And whatever fragrance is lingering in all of the pillows on his bed.

Eventually your heartbeat slows down. Dave kisses you, gentle. Soft. 

Acknowledging the mutual vulnerability. 

You continue rubbing the circles into his back, even when he fidgets. He’ll be glad for it later. 

A bird is singing outside. 

Blessed silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone. hope you liked the very fluffy chapter and you're having a great week. depending on how my life goes sunday's chapter may get slightly postponed but idk. sorry im lackluster i havent really had a great 24 hours. love y'all, see you probably sunday <3
> 
> also: i recently started work in a prosthetics clinic, and apparently the term for karkat's kind of amputation is "transfemoral" idk i just wanted to tell yall lol


	27. EPISODE 26: INTERMISSION 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An aside into the mind of a Very Bad Man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you are sensitive to torture, please watch out for the end of this chapter. thank you, and i hope everyone enjoys!

_“Ampora!”_ The voice is grating, loud. Muffled through walls and doors and sweaty, shaking hands that clamp over the quivering ears of the most guilty.

Loud footsteps crash down the hall. Every-other step is punctuated by a clang as His right foot leverages His meager weight into the ground. The one that He seeks out can hear Him coming from down entire hallways. Cronus Ampora the Third wants to shut the door on the chambers in which he waits. He wants to let door crash shut and never open. 

It’s his own house, but he does not feel safe in it. 

Almost monthly, He visits. He almost never receives good news, and only ever comes to deliver the bad. His presence is unsettling on the estate itself. The maids become jittery, the butler sequesters himself in the kitchen, and all the other staff seem to try as hard as possible to disappear. 

“Ampora! Why were you not there to meet me?!” The voice rings out again. There’s a special kind of terror reserved only for him. A very special kind.

“In my offices, milord. Writing to the treasury about my gift for the princess’s birthday,” Ampora answers, knowing he will be heard.

The footsteps slow, briefly, as a very tall man rounds the corner. 

“Darkness upon the princess, Ampora. I’m here to receive my report.” 

It’s a difficult thing for Cronus Ampora to not wince at the curse. The princess has done nothing wrong here. It’s simply her association with the Queen that angers this man. The tall man’s knuckles pop as he clenches them. The tall man sits. The tall man crosses one leg over the other, and folds one of His hands in His lap. The other rests upon a cane’s handle, as it stands straight and proud next to His chair. The cane flickers with every color imaginable, glowing white onto the room. It’s painful to look at. 

Giving the report fills the shorter of the two men with dread. His eyes level on the desk, and he takes his time pushing the ink cap onto the bottle, and carefully laying it aside and out of reach. The ink on the paper is drying. So slowly. 

“I have… nothing new to report,” he says. Almost whispers. 

The silence is deafening. 

“Excuse me?” The tall man seethes. 

The room grows steadily smaller, and Ampora dare not lift his head to stare the man in the eyes. It would be insult. 

“You have nothing… new?” The tall man singles out the word with all of the finesse of a vulture picking clean the bones of something long dead. His verbal talons scratch into the muscle of the word and rip it from the bones of the sentence. Blood spatters the conversational limbo. 

“Nothing you would like to hear,” Ampora says then.

He instantly realizes his mistake. 

All of the candles flicker out. Only His cane still illuminates everything. Blindingly white, flickering so hurtfully on Ampora’s eyelids as he clamps them shut. Before an apology for his impertinence can squirm out of his lips, his face is being slammed into the letter on his desk. Wet ink gets in his nose, stings his left eye. The paper nearly slices his cheek, and he cries out in pain. 

The tall man’s sharpened nails flex in Ampora’s hair. A threat. A mere inch away from the vulnerable skin of his neck. As he scrabbles his fingers on the wood, clawing for purchase, his son’s rings clink against each other on his fingers. 

Noticing his son’s rings gives him pause. 

Right. Eridan. All for him. 

The tall man’s arm is still pressing down, still cruelly grinding his teeth into the wood surface. 

“News, Ampora,” he mutters. His voice is deadly, calm. Smooth. Cold trickles down the spine of the man whose teeth are now cutting into his upper lip. He's tasting blood. He cries out, just a little. He almost forgets again that all of this is for his son. His only, beloved son. So wasted in the prime of his life. 

Cronus Ampora knows the burning revenge coursing through the tall man’s veins. Cronus Ampora knows how the tall man must feel. But He does not feel the same pain as Cronus Ampora. Does not feel the same loss as Cronus Ampora. Yet He controls Cronus Ampora with the promise of retribution. He only knows Ampora, by that name alone and his presence in Court. But His fist in his hair mocks him. 

The tall man seeks revenge on the Great Colonel Vantas, as well. It took Him not a long time to find him after that battle, but He did find him. It took him even less time to seek Cronus out and promise Him things. Dark things. The darkness of the room burns. A flash of lightning fills the place with the promise of day, the threat of day, for mere fractions of seconds. It is always dark when He comes.

“Serket failed. She refuses to work with us any longer, as of three weeks ago,” Ampora croaks, muffled even as his head is rolled to the side to accommodate speech. “She almost hit her comrade.”

The tall man removes His hand. His mouth screws up. The candles stay out. The anger Ampora feels is no longer figurative. It’s a pressing, stabbing presence on his mind. It gores him and scores his teeth and tongue as he breathes it in. He can hear the tall man sit back down in His chair, His legs cross once more. Ampora dares not move. 

Eyes watering from the pain on his soul, Ampora relaxes. But he keeps his face down. He will look up if asked, will smear the letter across his skin as a brand of who he still pretends to support in court. The Queen would see his stained skin and laugh as she does, briny and cruel. 

“Was your assassin girl spotted?” The tall man asks. 

“No, but there… were a few… close,” he tries to breathe properly, and fails. “…calls. Close calls.”

“How?” the tall man asks. The pressure on Ampora’s eyes increases, the pain in his throat like lightning into his stomach.

“I’m sorry, my lord! She says that the victim can see her in the eyes of her puppet. It’s the only flaw of it,” Ampora barely manages to say. It all comes out at once, choked and high.

“… well. If she’s not been questioned and us found out, the little shit must not have told anyone.”

“Yes, Sire. Of course, Sire.”

“And if she was caught?” His voice is low, and dangerous. A snake, ready to pounce.

“She… would be… taken care of, my lord.”

“Very good, Ampora. Your son would be proud of you,” He says. To hear his son mentioned from the shriveled lips of this terrible man makes stomach acid rise in his throat. He almost vomits, there, on the desk. But he manages to swallow it down. It just makes him want to lose everything within him. “After all, Vantas caused his death. That ambush was made for another platoon, and he demanded to take it. Remember that I told you that?”

Ampora makes a small noise of agreement. Of course.

“She will understand the cost of her actions in time, I am sure,” the tall man hums. His sharp nails clink on the orb of His cane. 

“Yes, milord,” Ampora wheedles. Tongue numb, barely getting the words out, drool pooling on the desk. 

The tall man wants revenge. He wants the world to burn. He is unsettled inside, an explosion waiting to happen. He wants to get back at the Queen, wants to make her pay. He wants to take her eyes and scalp her head. He wants to do this, but cannot. The treaty is so binding that He cannot exact His anger upon her. He would be crushed so quickly He could not move but for a sword at His throat. 

So he chooses Colonel Vantas as his subject of pain. 

If not the Queen, why not her pawn? Her figurehead? Someone had to pay, after all. Someone has to pay for her crimes.

Why not the pawn that was figurehead in turning the war on its tail?

“We will find a way to do away with Vantas,” he murmurs, almost to himself. The weight of the darkness upon Ampora lifts, and needles cease dancing merrily on his tongue. Relieved gasps, ugly and wet, fill the otherwise silent room. Lightning flashes once more. It is followed by the rolling crashes of thunder. It is a rare storm in Skaia. But fitting for its temporary visitor. 

“We still have our own pawn, if all else fails,” Ampora tries. A desperate scramble to get back into the graces of the tall man. 

“Why, yes. We do,” the tall man almost sings. “We could see about putting that pawn to use.”

Cronus Ampora has tried many things to get both himself and the tall man what they want. He is being paid a hefty amount for it, but the money doesn’t matter as much as the revenge. Both Ampora and the tall man are aware of this. He has been assured by Him that he will not be seen, and that he will not be Seen either. His employer has very strong sorcerers on his side. 

Ampora has tried making a cave come down upon him. That failure was his folly alone. Casting a harmful spell upon Vantas’s little seditious friend was simple. He invited Captor to his estate, under the guise of talking about Court business. He had him remove his glasses under the guise of safety and trust. He was very convincing about it. The chair that Captor sat in clamped down on his body, and he was vulnerable to bewitching. First, he was knocked out and his memories removed of the situation. Then, he was cursed. Spelled. Charmed. Whatever. It was simple. Ampora had enough of his own magic to exact a little curse he bought from a very well-paid witch. He didn't catch her name. 

The poisoning attempt was destined to fail from the beginning. But Ampora figured that he might as well try something without magic. Maybe somehow it would go undetected and under their Sight. They had a powerful Seer, as well. Vantas was well protected. 

Ampora also hired miss Serket, who came highly recommended. He would communicate with her through letters, and she would get the job done. She would not be suspected because of her career. Surely a racer would be too busy for covert operations? She had been an intelligence officer out of the sight of the main line of the military. She had taken out several dignitaries before. What was one more?

But even spiders had soft little hearts, and when the second time had failed due to her friend being in the area? She was immediately betrayed as useless. Yes, she still got paid. Ampora would have to see about getting at least part of the payment back. But with both his estate income, and the income from his employer, it’s not like he couldn’t afford it. 

The candles in the room flicker back to life. 

“Do you know the word, Ampora?” The tall man asks him. “I believe with all of your failures, unfortunately, you will have to be the one to carry out the final act.”

It sends a sickening lurch through Ampora’s gut. He runs his tongue over the roof of his mouth as a distraction, and sits up. Looks his employer dead in the eyes. It is his job, after all. And who better to trigger the sleeper? The sleeper that has been there for so long. Who better than the man whose son was cruelly stolen from him in the ambush that could have been carefully avoided by the Great Colonel Karkat Vantas?

 

“Yes, Lord English.”

 

“Now, let’s make sure you remember it for good,” the Lord of the second kingdom says. Ampora doesn’t move. He’s terrified. He’s pushed back, and the orb is placed in front of his eyes. It’s so bright. It hurts. 

Several men he hadn’t seen before come up around him. Two of them hold his shoulders, one of them holds his head. Where did they come from? Their skin is a sickening green, their fingertips malleable, like wax dolls. One of them shoves his hand in Ampora’s mouth. 

No. But he knows, he knows. Why is he being punished when he _knows?_

Lord English asks. “Do you remember?” Ampora hesitates, and that's his first mistake. Tries to speak. Manages to get part of the word out. And the tall man who now sits on the desk snaps his fingers. 

“Good.”

The hand in Ampora’s mouth rips out one of his teeth.

He screams as blood fills his throat, but he can’t move. The orb is in front of his eyes. 

The orb is saying the word.

“And who are you trying to avenge by doing this?” Lord English croons, sweetly. Another tooth is yanked out. 

The orb says the word. _White, blinding._

The orb says the word. 

Lord English mouths some things at you. Laughs his horrible laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand there it is! hahahaha. I am SO SORRY i cant just let things be happy. but! i got loose ends to tie up and a veteran to bring all the way into his own story! 
> 
> what are they up to, what's going on??? how will the author pull everything together in the last six chapters??? why was this chap so short??? who knows????? 
> 
> hahaha i mean *I* do, lol. but next week it's back to dave n karks and meeting an old friend! stay tuned
> 
> anyway! thank you everyone for the *WONDERFUL* encouragement and comments and stuff, i love y'all, and i hope you're having a wonderful weekend :)


	28. EPISODE 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beach day episode

Getting back to the house two weeks ago, it had been difficult to hide your stupid grin. So difficult, in fact, that your mother and Dirk, who was there to pick something up, had taken one look at you and doubled over in laughter. You’d been gone for two days, morning of the first through to the evening of the next and then the early morning following that. It was still early by the time you arrived home.

When you walked into the forge, Dirk had made some kind of smug remark about being glad that he had stayed out all day and night. Your mother made a joke about being happy for you, and how was the young mister Strider finding walking today seeing as your gait was so easy? This joke made Dirk laugh harder, and it was easy for your face to sink back into the frown it had been in before. 

Whether or not Dave hadn’t wanted to get out of bed had absolutely nothing to do with the fair-sized bruise you hid under your collar. It also had nothing to do with the fact that he’d sat up one time, made an awful pained noise, and then collapsed again. ‘It wasn’t this bad yesterday, what the fuck?’ he’d said, and groaned some more before saying that Aradia had offered to take you back to your house for work.

Half an hour and a myriad of sweet kisses and bruising bites later, and Dave was almost shoving you out the door. “I have herbs for the pain, you go. I’ll visit you later,” he’d murmured into your hair. And so you’d gone. 

When he’d shown up late that afternoon, as planned, still a little stiff but so eager to kiss you again, there had been even more teasing. Dirk was still there, for whatever reason. The forge assistant, Jake, had given out some good-natured ribbing as well, at your expense. The way Dirk’s skin had filled from chin to forehead with a flaming flush was remarkable. Dave took the full advantage to rib his brother right back. 

Now, though, is a different day. You’re sitting with Dave again, and enjoying his company. His hand has just run through your hair. It’s covered in dried mud from his practice with Dirk earlier, and leaves a few tiny streaks in the dark curls. 

Since that morning two weeks ago, you’ve noticed more of his imperfections. As if some unseen deity thinks there should be a balance between you, of who does or does not have flaws.

Constantly forgetting to wash his hands before touching your head or face. Always having irritatingly silent conversations with Aradia that Roxy claimed were common with John, too, when she brought her wagon in to fix. Hovering over you, making sure you were fine all the time. Always laughing loudly, always bringing you lunch, always kissing you too warmly. Soft-spoken when you seem to be having a bad day, without asking. 

Dave is wonderful.

You’re eating a roll with sausage and cooked onion in it, something Jane has just started making. She ended up getting a shipment of pork links that was entirely too large, and got creative, practically hiding in her kitchen and only coming out every few hours. The results were a huge hit in the village. And excellent for eating cold, or hot, for a midday meal. 

Dave slices you off a piece of an apple, and you frown at him before shaking your head. 

“Not until you wash up,” you tell him, wiping your mouth. 

“What? It’s just mud,” he protests, but stands up anyways. It’s gotten hotter outside lately, so today you’re setting up a wider canopy for Kankri. Your shirt’s off, and you wipe your neck with it before turning and looking over your shoulder. 

Dave’s bent over the workshop handwashing trough, scrubbing some of the dirt out of his knuckles. He’s not got his over-shirt on today because of the humidity. His back isn’t a bad sight. It rained earlier, probably while he was still outside, and there are mud stains on his pant cuffs as well as his shoes. 

“It’s just a little bit of grit,” he’s complaining as he dries his hands. You turn back to your food, and take a drink from the cool water resting between your feet. 

“And unfortunately, I am not a fan of the feeling of grit in my mouth. Like most people,” you reply.

Dave doesn’t kiss your neck, but he lays his hand just between your bare shoulder blades as he passes back to his spot on the bench. It makes your face heat, and you look around for any spectators. There aren’t any. Dave isn’t very fond of public displays of intimacy, either. Yes, holding hands is fine. Hugging is fine. 

He takes your frown with a grin, and tries again with the apple. This time, you take the fruit and crunch down.

 

* * *

 

Kankri walks up from his perch on the cliff a while later. His head tilts curiously at the sounds of hammer and nails, and he stops several yards away. 

_What is this?_ He asks you. 

“We’re building you a shade, so that you don’t have to sit out in the sun,” you tell him. A quick notion of the knowledge that Dave is relaxing nearby gets filtered into your head. A feeling of wry doubt is sent alongside it. “Well, I am, anyway. _That one_ just wants to lie around on benches all day.”

The first three posts are up already, leaning a good ways out from the side of the workshop at intervals of about ten feet. After you try, weakly, to send him some images as well, mild excitement rolls through your connection to Kankri. He makes a little happy noise. Aradia runs up to him and presses their snouts together. He puffs some flame at her, and she snaps at it in the air. It’s a very endearing gesture.

Dave snorts. “Feeling fatherly, Kankri?” He asks, out loud. What? You turn and look at him. Dave turns his head back to you, after a minute of silence and what is probably the beginning of a very stern talk about assuming anything about what he’s feeling. Kankri’s scratching the side of his head with one of his forelegs. His head shakes, and his eyes narrow in Dave’s general direction.

Is he embarrassed?

“When flameward-leaning dragons are hatchlings, their mothers blow fire into their mouths to help them develop their first breath,” Dave explains, closing his eyes once more. “Guess it wasn’t my job to make a joke about it. Just thought it was cute, is all.” 

And… well. 

_I will have you both know that it’s not just a parental gesture,_ Kankri is saying firmly. His chin is still dipped, though. Embarrassment confirmed. 

_It can often be simply familial, regardless of sire or personal connection._

It’s still very… heartwarming to think about. 

So they have gestures, croons and such, for human family like you, and your mother. And they also have separate ones for other dragons. 

_It_ is _usually from an elder to a younger, however,_ Kankri admits. Dave chortles. You find yourself laughing a bit, too. 

With a little of Dave’s grudging help, you get the pole in the ground and set the holes with the fast-drying mortar. It’s a little difficult setting these with the mud, but it’s easier to get through the topsoil when it’s moist. After doing that, Dave goes to fetch the rainproof basket in which the cloth roof covering sits. It’s a mostly waterproof cover, though its purpose is mainly to shade. The covering will also help to shade the windows of the shop when it gets hotter outside. Rose Lalonde predicted a very warm summer.

Rings are already set into the corners of the tarp and the poles. It only takes an hour to tie up the cloth for the roof. Kankri even offers to let you sit on his head in order to fasten the knots, and it goes more quickly than you could have thought. 

Dave lays back again on the bench that you pulled out form the workshop, apparently planning to stay for the day. Once you’re done roping up the tarp, triple tied and set with a small amount of tar to keep the knots, Kankri sets you down on the ground. 

His nose keeps pressed against your back until you definitely have your footing. Then Kankri promptly lays down on the warm earth in the shade. Gratified emotions seep from him, and thanks is pushed into you before he apparently chooses to silence himself again. Kankri’s entire length fits comfortably under the tarp. Minus a large section of his tail, of course. But he still usually keeps that curled close to his legs.

Sighing, satisfied with your work, you step back over to the door of the workshop. Dave’s eyes are following you when you glance briefly downwards. He winks at you with his one open eye. 

“If you’re done, we could go to the beach?” He asks, playfully. It’s so childish, but he makes your heart thump out of your chest. The rush of joy, the fatal flaw. “Or something else?” He makes sure to add, with a ‘vague’ wave. In case that hadn’t already been a possibility in your mind. 

The bluntness of it makes you sigh again, but for a completely different reason. In the past two weeks, you’ve been intimate a few more times, and each time Dave is practically insatiable. Not carnally, entirely. But he craves touches, craves fingers on his skin. Carves you. It’s incredible for your self-esteem, sexual or not, but it’s a little embarrassing sometimes. 

“Maybe we can,” you tell him. Dave smiles a victorious smile and punches the air. You pick up your tool box, and the extra lengths of rope, and carry them over to the door. 

It strikes you that Dave has been spending an awfully high amount of recreational time with you, lately. What did he do all day before you began your romantic life together? Surely he had other duties, other things to do… he used to teach classes and spend more time at the orphanage, did he not? Dave most likely had training to do, and children to teach. Is that all Dirk’s responsibility now?

“You could break a coconut between your brows if you tried hard enough, small one,” your mother says as you set the bucket down on the work table. A snort and muffled growl from outside tell you that Aradia’s probably bothering Kankri. There’s a more pleased noise, then, and you get the feeling that Dave is giving him the long strokes down the snout that he likes so much. 

“Is something bothering you?” She asks. She pours the bucket of hot coals in her hands into the bottom of one of the smaller furnaces, and peels off her gloves. Will she be working on more jewelry for the second half of the day? That generally means that she will be working by herself. Jake has the day off, for whatever reason. He said something about spending the day with his sister. Whoever that is, in town. You don’t know everyone. Nowhere near it. 

“Do you know what Dave did all day before?” You ask, wiping your hands on a rag. 

Your mother laughs, loudly. It takes her a second to regain her proper breathing, and she holds her side. 

“Well you make him sound like he just does nothing!” she exclaims, and laughs some more. “Is he too lazy for you, son?” 

Defensively, you frown at her. “I was just remarking on the fact that he seems to spend an awful lot of time here!”

And your mother smiles. “Well, small one. He still does things in town, as far as I know. And Dirk hasn’t complained about his missing training yet. I hear he races here to have a meal with you after he finishes all of his morning duties.” 

You’re quiet. You wring your hands. 

“And then he usually goes right back to what he was doing,” she adds. “And then when he has a free afternoon, he’ll spend it here.”

You’re starting to get her implication, and it makes you feel a little warm. You’re not wearing a shirt, so you can’t pick at your collar. Instead, you rub the hand-wiping cloth over your face. 

Your mother draws a little closer after pumping the bellows a few times to get a good, hot fire going. And she shuts the door. It will crank well enough to heat, so that she can do it by herself. 

“Maybe he just likes to spend all of his free time with you, just like you do him,” your mother finally finishes. 

The ball of warmth in your chest spreads again, away from the doubt and curiosity that had attempted to fester itself. When you look up at your mother, she’s smiling at you with her eyes, looking just about on the verge of laughing again. 

“I’m happy that you could be so happy, small one,” she murmurs to you, and pats you on the cheek. “You can spend the rest of the afternoon with him, if you like. Besides, you don’t get a lot of chances to be in the beginnings of love. I got my break day yesterday, anyway. And Kankri will be here to keep an eye on me.”

The joke doesn’t escape you, but you’re stuck on one word. ‘Love’ pulls at your brain and turns it into pitiful mush. A huge part of you wants to convince yourself that you don’t need that love, that the love makes you weaker. That it makes you too vulnerable. 

But the love is heady and strong. It’s a happy love, a good love, a love that’s excited about life. The love isn’t necessary for you to be happy at all. But you want it there. Crave it there. 

Your mother’s eyes glance over your shoulder, and she grins again. 

“I’ll see you tonight, son. Have fun,” she says. 

When you turn around after giving her a rather messy embrace, Dave is leaning against the inside of the door jamb. 

One of his ankles is crossing the other, and he has his arms folded on his chest. 

“Well? We going to the beach today or not? Swimming sounds like fun,” he says. 

You frown at him, but it’s halfhearted. “You are well aware of the fact that I can’t swim at the beach anymore, Strider. It’d rust my leg.” 

Drawing closer, you throw the rag over your shoulder and lightly touch Dave’s hips. The display isn’t too public, and it’s only your mother around, right? And the dragons. But they’re privy to all sorts of knowledge they probably wouldn’t be were they humans, anyway. 

Dave grins. “Yeah, but I could carry you to the water, right? Sure you aren’t intimidated by the current with only the one leg?” His voice is light, and he leans forward to peck you on the lips. “I would hold you against the waves all day.” 

The insinuation is badly formed, but you feel a rush go through you anyway. 

You lean forward, to catch Dave’s mouth with your own. He gasps against you, hands still carefully casual in front of himself. 

“Wow. Sounds Steamy, boys. You’ve gotten some smooth moves, Strider.” 

The unfamiliar female voice shreds your attention, and you peel quickly away from Dave. His lips unstick tackily from yours, and he’s frowning with frustration before he even turns around. 

A woman is standing there, leaning against the tree across the path to the workshop. 

You watch as Dave’s frown disappears. To be replaced with something else open, and joyous.

Her black hair is shoulder-length, her skin is pale, and her eyes are covered with red spectacles. She looks deadly, somehow. She’s slender, almost spiny. She’s dressed in a sleeveless red surcoat that’s bisected in the middle by turquoise. When she moves her feet, you see red leather boots on top of her black, reinforced pants. Rider.

It takes a moment for you to stop analyzing her. It comes as second nature, sometimes, to inspect someone for their weaknesses, for their strengths, for their adeptness in battle. It used to be a rather nauseating skillset that you couldn’t put down. No matter what. Now it seems to be plaguing you in the form of clothing analysis. Kanaya would be thrilled.

“Rez?!” Dave exclaims. He moves from you, and toward her, and you start to feel a little lost. As she steps away from the tree, her spiked hood glints in the light. From over her shoulder you can see the frame of more firm leather that most likely fastens around her head for a hood. The spikes are familiar, but you can’t quite recall. It feels like you’ve had this internal debate so many times before. You can’t help the fact that your memory is a little foggy at times, though. It comes with the territory.

Dave walks over to ‘Rez’ and wraps her in a hug that she returns. 

“’Rez’?” You ask, out loud. They both turn to you. Or at least, Dave does. ‘Rez’ turns toward the sound of you, instead, facing your general area. Kankri makes a small noise, and you look at him. He’s facing a bit away from the forge, clearly directing his listening functions toward the newcomer. Something about that strikes you.

When you look back at ‘Rez’ you can tell. She’s… she’s blind? Right, you remember Dave saying something about the blind rider. But you thought he called her Terezi. Not ‘Rez.’ 

When she faces you, the woman’s visage gains a little bit of familiarity. It takes another moment to figure it out. Then, like a rock to the temple, it hits you. She was there, after Dave won. With two dragons, and… another… rider? Maybe? It’s been nearly months, now.

“Ah yeah! Karkat, this is Terezi! I told you about her. Terzi Pyrope,” Dave finally says, detaching himself from her and walking back in your direction. When your face settles into the familiar old scowl, you’re not surprised. Dave notices, though, and you catch a whiff of disappointment in his eyes before he keeps talking. 

“Terezi is blind, but Latula helps her see. It’s one of their special things. They used to come train with me and Aradia when I was younger. Only stopped about four or five years ago,” he rambles. Terezi is looking at you, you feel like. Or not at you, but at what you _are._ You’ve been scrutinized by magic users before, this way. It always makes the back of your neck itch. 

She must like what she sees, though, because her face splits into a grin that’s more sharp teeth than lip. 

“Terezi’s a racer, too, and an old friend. She’s not from here, but some of the late elders from our villages knew each other and got us all training together in more practical ways,” Dave is saying. “But yeah, I told you she would want to meet you, sometime.”

When Dave stops talking, it’s almost painfully silent between the three of you. A hammer clinks in the forge, and Aradia makes a noise where she’s still rolling in the grass out in the field. Kankri remains still and silent. 

Meeting new people always makes something in you go stiff. Your back is rigid, feet apart and ready, hands clenched at your sides. Meeting new people that know the people you’re already familiar with is somehow worse. Your jaw clenches, and unclenches. A breeze blows a lock of hair into your eyes. It’s getting long enough that you might need to get it cut again soon. Or perhaps you could grow it out more.

“Well. This is awkward,” Terezi says. It effectively breaks whatever tension had been building, and you let yourself crack a bit of a smile. 

The smile sinks back into stolidity. You hold out your hand. 

“Colonel Karkat Vantas of Her Majesty’s royal army,” you say reflexively. There’s something about her that, despite trying to condition yourself out of it, makes you introduce yourself by full title. That _is_ still your 'official' title, after all. 

Terezi seems to somehow know that your hand is out, and she fishes around for a minute with her fingers before taking it into her own. 

“Terezi Pyrope, relay rider, the Turquoise Redglare,” she tells you herself. It’s an interesting title. But her grip is firm, certain. A rough palm and sureness in the fix of her mouth.

When your hands shake, Dave looks between you both. He seems partially confused and partially relieved. 

“Speaking of relay,” he tries again, “Where’s Vriska?”

The confidence in Terezi all but evaporates. She puts on a very good front for all of five seconds before she has to answer Dave. Is Vriska her partner? You remember staring at a woman, after the race at Skaia. Was that her?

“She had… I’m not sure,” Terezi says. “She had something to take care of today, apparently. We were on the way here, this morning, and she got a messenger. She looked at the letter. And just left. I’m sure she’s fine. She didn’t seem to want to come, anyway.”

Something about the way Terezi is holding herself lets you know that she’s not so sure that this ‘Vriska’ person is fine. But she perks up anyway, stands straight, and holds herself more firmly than she was before. Even Kankri is a little impressed, if his huff of breath is anything to go by.

When Dave gets a little closer to her, and touches her shoulder, that’s when you feel the spark of jealousy. It’s ridiculous to feel it, over such a small thing. But you are. Are they that close? 

“We were just about to head to the beach,” Dave says. And the spark of jealousy grows a little bit. But you tamp it down. “You wanna come? I bet Latula misses the beach, she used to like it so much. And we can catch up. Yeah?” 

He looks at you for approval, and you find yourself nodding. It wouldn’t be all bad. You have a lot of time to spend with Dave, after all. This is his friend. And although you don’t really trust her, yet, you’re finding it hard not to want to. 

“We could get some supper on our way back up, if you like. Have you eaten at Jane’s?” you offer. Dave looks so relieved that you’re no longer offended. You want to reach out and kiss him, smother him in an apology. It’s so uncharacteristic for you that you find yourself forcing your face back into a frown. Instead of looking disappointed this time, Dave looks like he wants to laugh a bit. 

“You wanna come too, Kankri?” Dave asks. And you hadn’t even thought about it. Has Kankri even been down to the beach yet? Maybe he could polish his scales, if the water isn’t too cold for him. 

“Who’s Kankri?” Terezi asks. And, as if out of thin air, a large dragon drops to the ground in front of the three of you. Kankri starts, rearing back from his prone position. Smoke drips from his nostrils, and he whines a single, high note. He’s been spooked by the sudden arrival. The newcomer tilts their head, looking very pointedly at the dragon on the ground. “Oh. I thought that was your magic, Vantas. Strange, it’s so similar,” Terezi mumbles.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” you say. Your hands find the tip of Kankri’s nose, and you stroke your palm down the center of it. Like calming a horse, you make a few soft noises. When he’d been surprised, his long neck had curved back, rearing back to your eye level. 

You thought he could sense other beings in the same area. Did he not See this dragon before they landed? 

Kankri’s breathing lengthens, his claws scratch warily in the dirt, and his wings stay clamped to his body. Thank the Light that he hadn’t flexed them in fear. All of your hard work would be gone. And half of the workshop roof.

“Oh… he’s a dragon,” Terezi almost whispers. “I’m sorry for startling you. Latula helps me see.”

The last part is directed toward Kankri. He remains still, steadily calming under your touch. 

“Oh, and you’re… blind,” Terezi says, again to herself. Her voice carries a softness and a small amount of wonderment that it lacked before.

When you look back at her, she’s staring straight ahead. The dragon, Latula you assume, has her gaze firmly fixed on the dragon under your hands. It’s the strangest gaze. It’s the only thing you can really notice about her, right now. The sclera are fully red, redder than Aradia’s scales. And they glow very barely, even in the daylight. There’s a very stark, round, black pupil in the center of her eyes. They flicker to you, and you feel the immediate need to look away. 

Kankri seems calmer as he pushes his nose under your arm, very obviously trying to scent out the newest members of the group. 

Latula has very shiny turquoise scales, when you look at her. You remember her form clearly, from that day at the race. It’s odd that you didn’t remember her rider. You brush it off. 

Latula is larger, odd for a racer, with an impressive wingspan. She’s muscled, built for speed and finesse with her thinner legs and slender body. 

“Damn, strider, got yourself a handsome one this time,” Terezi says, and you look to her. She’s still staring into the distance. You look back at Latula, who is staring your body up and down. It’s both unsettling and fascinating, how she can see you through her dragon’s eyes. When you heard that the dragon helps her see, you were expecting more of a merging. Not just direct sight. 

It’s unsettling enough that you go back to paying attention to Kankri. His nose is stretching out warily toward Latula, who is also stretching her nose to him. They touch, in the center, and Kankri’s white eyes visibly widen. His neck straightens, and he ventures more bravely outward from the forge. 

Latula perks up, as well, and allows her neck and wings to be scented before she tries the same with Kankri. He allows it. 

_I would love to come to the beach._ The sudden words after all of the silence make you stumble. There is still a small amount of anxiety in his tone from the sudden shock of the unfamiliar dragon landing on the ground. But there is also a good amount of eagerness. _This Latula is a brilliant conversationalist thus far. A little blunt, but she is also… what you would call old._

“Are you okay to leave?” You ask, just to make sure. He nods, slowly with his great spiked chin, and steps out into the sunlight. 

_Yes. I was focusing on Terezi a slight too intently. Such was my distraction and downfall._

Kankri sounds certain. You let it pass. Though you wonder why he was focusing so hard on Terezi. It’s possible that they have similar magic. Maybe that was why? He did something similar when he zeroed in on Rose, when he first arrived. 

Aradia jumps over to join the five of you. Her body wiggles as she rubs her face against both of the other dragons’. They make very mild sounds of acknowledgement, and she barks at them. Latula barks back, clearly playing, and Kankri lets out a small plume of smoke. A ball of energy and two older dragons. It’ll be interesting to see how they get along.

 

* * *

 

“I missed the smell of the Ocean,” Terezi sighs. She’s leaning back on her hands next to you, uncaring of the sand getting all over her boots and surcoat. Dave’s taken his shoes off, and is sitting on your other side, wiggling his toes in the slightly wet gravel. The great black rocks scattered around and jutting from the beach stand out stark against the sky. 

You’re sitting on a rock with your shirt back on, the only sensible one. Dave and Terezi are both by your feet. 

“How long are you here for?” Dave asks Terezi. She tilts her head, and looks out on the sea. So she’s blind, again. It must be something they use mostly while flying. It would make sense. It probably takes energy to keep it going. 

“Maybe a week,” Terezi replies. Dave nods. It’s a comfortable silence. 

Kankri has warily waded into some calmer shallows. Latula seems to be splashing in the water and making soft little noises, to give him some direction. It looks like she’s directed him toward an area with not as much wind or water flow. And she is standing past him in the water, as if making sure that he won’t get swept away. The ocean is calmer on the beach here, but the water currents are never predictable.

From farther away, they look about the same size. Excluding Kankri’s wingspan, of course. It’s disarming to see a dragon that is closer to Kankri in height. Aradia always seems to look small, with the shape of her body and how she moves. 

Aradia is staying out of the water for the most part. Dave mutters something about her preferring fresh water, because of how salt feels in her fur. 

A seagull squawks. 

“So, coolkid,” Terezi says. Her feet pat on the wet sand. “What have you been telling this guy about me?” The tone is playful, trying for joking. 

Dave looks oddly uncomfortable for a minute before answering honestly. “I haven’t told him anything, really,” he says.

“The only things that I can remember he’s really told me are that you’re a racer, and you’re blind,” you fill in for him. 

Terezi pulls her glasses off of her eyes, and leans forward to look around you. As if that will afford her better hearing. “Nothing? Really? And he’s…” she’s frowning. Dave looks minorly guilty. The playful tone is a bit absent, now. And you wonder what caused it.

Terezi then looks in your direction, and opens her mouth to speak. But before she can say much of anything, Dave blurts over her. 

“We were in an intimate relationship for a good while,” he says. Terezi shuts her mouth. Like she’s unsatisfied with what he decided to say, but she’s going to let him have that one. When you look back at Dave, he’s staring up at you guiltily. It’s hard not to be a little confused over what exactly you should be feeling. How the fuck are you supposed to react in a situation like this? “Is that what you wanted me to say, Terezi?” 

Instead of replying, you sigh and look out at the ocean. It had been a lingering suspicion of yours, but you find yourself unable to be jealous or offended. About that in particular. People have past relationships. People separate. People find other people. 

“I’m sorry for not telling you,” Dave tries. It makes you want to stand up, and walk off. That he’s apologizing now… but it’s fair. It’s not like he’s shared any of his other romantic experiences with you, and he very obviously wasn’t inexperienced the first night you’d lain together.

But the idea that he didn’t tell you about it niggles at something in your head. Something so important, someone that he still spends a good amount of time with, _without_ you.

It reminds you a lot of how you felt with Sollux. Toward the end. You had known he had someone else, in that case, so it was different. But it still left you with the fragile feeling of not being the most important. Not being important _enough._

Kankri, in the water, has started experimentally dipping his nose in, and then his wings, and shaking them off. Latula is looking on him with something betraying amusement.

It’s not that you think that Dave will leave you for Terezi. The whole thing simply has a sour taste lingering on your tongue. He knew about your past. Why didn’t you know about his? 

“Well, we fell out pretty hard,” Dave starts, and you open your mouth to tell him that you don’t care. But he talks over you. “I also had a crush on Jade when I was a kid. And I used to think Jane Crocker was the prettiest lady ever after I got over Jade. And I had a week-long fling with this elitist asshole once in Skaia, he’s the one who taught me how to give amazing fellatio. And then right after that was Tav. It was real cute. I don’t even know where that kid is.”

You’re a little shell-shocked, and Terezi laughs a bit. “Oh yeah, Nitram was such a weenie. The most stereotypical teenage whirlwind that ever existed. He wrote you that long-winded poem and you didn’t put it down for _weeks,”_ She says. Her laughter makes you loosen a bit. Nitram. Tavros Nitram. Right? You remember him, and something sinks in your gut. It's a dark and sobering moment when you recall his death. But you recover quickly for the moment, and cast the thought aside. So many have died in your life. He was far from the only one to die like that.

And... now is not the time to inform Dave of any of that. Definitely not the time. It might not ever be the time for that.

Kankri is flipping himself over in the water. It’s easy to tell that all three dragons are communicating with each other, with how they pause for minutes at a time, making the occasional screeing noise or something much more bass. The large black dragon is preoccupied with wiggling his wings very obviously in the sand, twisting his scales and stomach into the grains. It must be a softer sand, further out in the water. Not the pebbly, rough sand up here. 

Latula is watching him carefully, occasionally looking back toward the sea. Every now and then she turns, herself, splattering more water and polishing her scales as well. 

“Yeah, and I still bet I have it, too. It was the sappiest love poem ever. I drew a shitty little rose on the bottom,” Dave continues. And that. That makes you chuckle. Of course he did. Of course Dave, the clingiest guy in the entire village, drew a rose on a poem that someone else drew for him. 

“Where do you think it is?” You laugh. Dave starts laughing too, probably half out of relief that his decision to just display his love life in front of you was the right one. His hand finds yours, and you twist your fingers into it. It very obviously has his shoulder at a weird angle, since you’re sitting on a rock. But he doesn’t seem to care. Something warms again in your chest. 

“Probably between the pages of that very well-worn erotic novel Dirk bought me as a joke when we went to a bigger city for the first time,” he says, and that just makes it funnier. It gets a smile out of you, and soon, your eyesight is full of pale skin and teal. 

Something warm and wet touches your cheek, and you reel back with a little shout. The reeling makes you fall on the sand, and Dave catches you before you can hit your head. 

“What in Light’s name?!” you exclaim. 

Terezi, tongue sticking out of her mouth, is crouching over where you were and grinning. “So you _can_ smile,” she says, and cackles some more. Holy Light. You suddenly feel absurdly better about them having had a relationship in the past. At least _you_ don’t lick peoples’ faces. 

Dave starts laughing harder, and Terezi sits back down on the sand, in front of the rock this time. You stay next to Dave, now that you’re already covered in grit. There’s no use trying to defeat it now. 

Latula makes a loud noise, and all three of you look out to see Kankri splashing her with his wings. He’s looking very clean and lustrous, free of dust and dirt. His tail splashes in the water, sending a wave at Latula, and she splashes back with her left front foot. Kankri is immensely surprised when water hits him, and he splutters and growls.

It makes that tight something in your chest loosen all the way back up. Dave’s hand sinks to the base of your spine. It’s a warm presence there, soft and solid and belonging. 

Kankri and Latula quickly tire of their play, and walk back up the beach to spread themselves out on the hot sand. The water must have been freezing. Kankri walks with higher and more confident steps, nipping rudely at Latula’s neck and then releasing a burst of smoke in her face. She does the same to him. Aradia seems to decide to join the fun, and beelines for them. Kankri seems energized even as he pushes her biting head into the sand with one clawed foot.

Maybe he should spend some time with Latula and Terezi over the next several days. It would be good for him. 

At some point, the three of you move to a part of the beach that’s shaded by a section of the vast spanning cliff. The dragons lay down for some sort of nap nearby in the sun, and Terezi and Dave trade stories over your head. You remain mostly silent, absorbing the rest of the afternoon and the comfortable feeling of Dave’s hand wrapped around your own. It’s nice. It’s a very nice day. Terezi doesn’t worry about Vriska, Dave doesn’t worry about you, and you don’t really worry about anything.

 

* * *

 

When night falls, and you try to stand, the sand catches in your leg and everything freezes up. It won’t move, and then when you try to brush off some of the sand, a hinge comes unhooked. For whatever reason. A part falls out, and then the foot detaches. 

You groan. 

“For fuck’s sake,” you find yourself grumbling. You don’t have your cane or crutches with you, and you aren’t about to let Dave and Terezi take you all the way back. “Last time I don’t wrap this before coming to the shoreline.”

Kankri tilts his head. Dave and Terezi look a little perplexed at your situation, Dave looking like he wants to help but isn’t sure how. He’s not the mechanic of the family. And you only have a vague idea of how the part that came out works. 

“Ah, right, you only have the one leg,” Terezi is muttering to herself. It takes you a minute to remember that she’s blind, and only had one real look at you. 

“Now it’s especially true,” you say, rather sarcastically. She snorts. 

_What happened, Karkat?_ Kankri asks you. His nose is pressed to your leg, curious. You pick up the part that fell out, and try to see what exactly happened. 

“Blasted metal foot came undone. I’ll have to get mother to fix it,” you inform him. He doesn’t say anything for a minute, and then…

_I could carry you home._

It’s… the notion makes you separate from yourself for a moment, before you got it together and looked at him. As usual, he isn’t really looking at you, or anywhere in particular. Kankri’s nostrils flare, and he nudges the foot piece with the tip of his nose. 

“That’s a pretty great idea,” Dave says. “Aradia might be too bumpy for you without someone to hold you on, or your leg.”

“And Latula doesn’t necessarily like other people riding her,” Terezi adds. 

A little warily, a little nervously, you stand to your feet. Kankri has a space on his shoulders, perfect for a saddle. Or even for riding without one. It’s been a long time since he had anyone sit there. But when you lean on him, he takes your weight. Dave holds out his hands, and you hand him the parts of the prosthetic that fell off. 

It’s a little more complicated, but you manage to remove the rest of the leg itself without needing to take off your belt. And Dave helps you seat yourself across Kankri’s back. It’s strange. The last time you sat in this same place, you were very small. The wind had rushed against your face, and the comforting presence of your father had sat behind you. 

Sitting atop his rolling shoulders as he walks, grasping one of the large dorsal spines for balance, you feel so natural here.

You feel like you belong.

Maybe you could help him see. You could help him fly again. 

Dave pats you on the thigh as the six of you walk. 

“Jane’s?” He asks you and Terezi. 

“Yeah. If you can resist staring at her pretty face,” you tease him. He punches your good leg. Terezi laughs the loudest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys!!! i decided to post this chapter up today because im not sure about my schedule tomorrow, and i had a spare moment today! gird your loins!!! hahahahhahahahahahahahhaha
> 
> [Here](http://royalrastafariannaynays.tumblr.com/post/147557207455/sorry-for-my-bad-handwriting-and-shit-but-i-wanted) is a link to a little mock-up of some of the setting detail of Seahaven! idk i felt like drawing it (its bad, wtf do you mean, i graduated from art school)
> 
> anyway next weekend is gonna be GREAT! :D 
> 
> if you're interested in updates from my transkat fic, ive been writing stuff out for that but it might be a good bit before i post any chapters! but im working on getting them out soon but ive been real busy!
> 
> i love you all and i hope you have a wonderful weekend and week ahead of you!!


	29. EPISODE 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> im sorry  
> make sure to check the tags for cw

“There haven’t been any tries on your life in a while.”

Dave says this with zero ceremony, picking chicken skin from his teeth. The piece he picks out goes right back into his mouth, and he smacks his lips. You allow your nose to wrinkle, and he chuckles at the facial expression. You smell smoke on the air, and allude it to the forge. Kankri is spending the day on the rocks, as far as you know. He’s been doing that a lot more again, lately. 

“Well,” you reply, swallowing your mouthful of food, “It’s been quite awhile, but they took their time between the previous acts.”

You don’t want to tempt fate by saying that it’s been good, or calm. You don’t want to say that it’s been so long that maybe they’ve given up. You don’t want to summon the tempest from where it sits on the edge of the map, ready to come at you at a moment’s notice. 

It’s been more than three months since the last attempt against you. Three uneventful months of time you’ve been feeling happier. Marginally. Three months of time that you’ve been spending with Dave by your side, as well. Three months without turmoil seeping into your life from the corners.

About two weeks ago, you sat down with yourself and wondered how it would be to suggest to Kankri that maybe you could be a suitable partner for him. It had felt good to consider. It had felt so good to consider that you’ve been working up the gusto to ask for a few days now.

Dave would be a solemn presence behind you, when you talked to Kankri. He backed you when you asked about your physical capabilities, and lauded your determination and raw skill in training. In the past two weeks, you’ve been practicing with him. Sparring with another person is easier. It’s harder to see death under your hands when you’re working on discerning someone else’s tactics.

It feels so very foolish, but you have a scenario built out in your head. You ask Kankri, he has a long moment of silence. He’ll tell you that he needs to think about his decision. You’ll respect his decision. But how could he say no? You would be a perfect match. You father’s memories in his head would be painful for you, and it would be a lot to get used to.

The sacrifice for Kankri’s sake would be worth it. He could see again, through your eyes. He could take to the skies again.

“They’re probably planning,” Dave says. 

Looking up affords you a glance into a kind of darkness in Dave’s eyes. He’s staring holes into your mother’s dining table, scratching a nail over a worn crack in the wood. The house feels too quiet, and a bit of a chill forms a layer on your shoulders. 

It’s impossible to reassure him about the situation. There’s nothing you can say to help that won’t be a direct lie. When Dave looks up, you reach over to run your fingers over his twitching hand. His palm turns, and his fingers twine warmly into yours. 

“Rose says she’s almost made a breakthrough,” he murmurs, voice still low. “The last assassin wasn’t very well protected. Either that, or the psychic disconnect was messier than the others.”

You run your thumb across the back of his hand, bring forward your other hand to touch Dave’s face. It’s awkward to reach across the table. Dave sees this and chuckles, leaning forward accommodatingly. He smiles at you, pushing more levity into the conversation. 

“After all, if we find them then you’d probably be safe for a good long while. Right?” 

Thunder rumbles outside. It strikes you as odd, if just for the reason that it wasn’t supposed to storm today. Maybe you’re remembering incorrectly, however, and you blink and refocus.

The flash of protection that rings in Dave’s gaze sets something boiling in you. His eyes go hard, and then soft again. He’s… he feels helpless in this situation. And he is, in most ways, compared to you. His body is softer, his mind less exposed to the cruelty of others. 

You smile back. 

But he wants to help, so badly. He wants to shield you and take care of you. Just as you do him. 

When you glance to the window, planning on just looking back at Dave, you freeze.

Outside, clouds have rolled over the sun. It’s unexpected to have an unannounced rainstorm, but… it’s almost dark out. Your hand falls from Dave’s neck, and his grip clenches around yours on the table. When you direct your gaze toward him, he appears very worried. He’s pushed his food back from himself, and his brow is set forward in a worried cinch of skin and concern. 

Dave doesn’t look at you, but he deeply inhales before craning his neck to look outdoors. His eyes flicker around uneasily. Aradia should be waiting outside the house, in the front. She was napping just outside the door. 

“What?” you ask.

“It’s not natural,” he says. Dave’s eyes fill with black, covering the whites and the color both. Aradia. “She feels it too. It’s bad news.”

“Does she see anything?” you ask. He shakes his head, and your hand tightens around his fingers. You are like stone. Something’s giving you a very bad feeling. 

And just as that bad feelings starts to propagate into horror and spreading anxiety, you feel it. 

A very familiar tug, yanking on the stem of your mind and uprooting your thoughts. 

_Karkat!_

Kankri’s voice screams into your brain, and you clutch your head. It hurts. It’s pain, shooting grotesquely through your spine and into the cracks of your thoughts. 

_Help! Karkat?! HELP!_

The split of the seam of your thoughts tries to rip and spill open. Dave’s hand tries to cling to yours as you rip it away to pull at your hair and ears. His eyes are on you when you look up, and his mouth is wrenched in panic and worry. 

“I’m sorry I said it,” he says. It’s entirely too light-hearted for the shrill piercing in your skull. It echoes and vibrates in your head, like your mind is a steel drum and his words are knives. 

_Help, please! Your mother! The barn. Please. Help, PLEASE!_

As soon as his voice fades out, instinct shoots into your veins. You feel hot and jittery, like the rush comes on the heels of the essence of poppy. It freezes you for a split second before it seizes you instead, sending you careening. Protection. You need to be armed. You have to fight. Dave shouts after you as you turn and vault over the bench toward the house. 

The smoke smell on the air intensifies greatly as you pass the open window, and you run for your sickles. 

Their handles are cool, but familiar in your hands. They welcome you home, with your very specific nail groove in the right thumb slot. There’s the extra leather from the patch job. There’s the second weld stain. Rust flecks peel off and fall like snow to the floor, as you take them into your arms and run your fingers across their curves like an old lover. Dave is standing where you left him when you turn back around. His eyes are a little fearful as you pass him again, and he flinches as the latch on your chest clangs shut. 

He’s seen you use at least one of them before. His blood still decorates the one in your left hand. 

Thunder cracks again, and light briefly strobes through the room. Dave’s face is like missing the last step on the staircase. This whole moment feels too slow, the swift dropping of your stomach almost forcing you to stumble. Your vision wavers for a moment. It briefly blurs before settling back into normalcy, back into what it needs to be. 

You have no time for weakness. Kankri needs help.

The sickles are heavier than you remember. The dried blood still sings for company, still sings to you. Why did you never clean them? The blades are so light, so thin. So maneuverable. The fighting forms and positioning rush back into your mind as you turn from Dave. You nearly sprint out of the house and around to the other side. 

What you see almost has you dropping your weapons.

The entire barn is ablaze. 

At first, you only see Kankri shuddering back from the heat and smoke, halfway between the barn and the cliffs. The fire seems miles high. It’s a wonder you didn’t smell the smoke more prominently. The tower of darkness and sparking gray billows so far it might as well be the clouds themselves. Ash coats your throat and tongue.

Lightning blinds you and thunder deafens you. 

You see them when you turn your head. 

Two figures stand silhouetted against the fire. One of them you recognize as your mother. Her sobbing is horribly audible as the thunder recedes, even from where you are. And the man holding her…

Rings, bright. Nocking an arrow. Burning on the battlefield. Explosions. The cave collapsing, the ugliest pants you’ve ever seen. And the sneer. He needed to find Egbert, he said.

The man stands tall and thin, holding your mother like an iron cage across the shoulders. The glint of a dagger flashes with the next strike of lightning. The knife is being held against your mother’s throat, dragging dangerously against the skin. 

Not mother. 

Please.

You draw near, fingers quaking on the handles of your sickles. 

Aradia’s enraged howl at the sight is a terrifying sound, and carries promise of rot and burn. Kankri is still cowering, though now just a bit closer. He whines shrilly, and can do nothing else. He would be near blinded by the smoke in his nostrils and the noise of the fire. Useless in anything. 

“How fortunate that you were so close by,” a voice slithers out to you. It feels like slime on your skin, and you flick your eyes toward the man holding your mother. Fear, but also rage, ooze from between your lips as you breathe. He will not. Hurt. Her. 

The man’s eyes are sunken, his brows are drawn. He is shaking and brittle, but holds your mother like a vice. 

“I’ve been trying my hardest to get you to die for more than a year. More than a year, now!” He _chuckles._ His black hair drips sweat onto his brow. “It’s starting to get exhausting.” His voice is cinder and promise, decay and grime.

You take a step closer, and your mother cries out in pain. One of her wrists wrenches horribly in the wrong direction. They’re only about five yards away from you, now. You could make that distance, get her away from him. To safety. Dave could distract him, or take a shot at him. Dave is unmoving, silent beside you. It’s probably taking everything he has to keep Aradia from springing forward.

“It’s just a lucky chance that Lord English somehow managed to capture the single best playing card in the deck. And he’s right here for me to use! Our ace in the hole!” He coughs. “He had him in a cage. He found out his connection to your father by pure happenstance. It was simple from there.”

His words are going through you, sudden and hurried and you’re still trying to make sense of it. What does this have to do with your mother? Is your mother just a pawn in this, like you’ve feared? But then what would this have to do with your father? None of this is clicking with you. 

Lord English? He had seemed like more of a proximal foe. He was more of a figurehead than anything to you. You were on the battlefield, fighting men and monsters. Besides. Lord English surrendered. What would he want with you? A crippled veteran from the south, who got thousands of men killed in war from his own side? Lord English, the flesh-eater, the dark one, the bringer of pain.

Is Lord English the one at the root of all of the attempts on your life? 

Wait. Cage.

Father.

You suddenly don’t want to put it together. 

It’s hard not to cover your ears and cry out to avoid hearing. There’s no way. 

“Who are you?!” You ask, desperate. Anything but that, anything but thinking about that.

Rage fills the man’s features. His blank eyes light afire, reflecting the roaring inferno behind him. Everything feels darker for two scary seconds, before he speaks softly. You have no idea how you hear it. “Well, I’m Cronus Ampora,” the man simpers. 

He shouts a laugh. It sounds crazed. It sounds like he hasn’t slept in days. It sounds like his throat would just tear out if he were to shout any louder than what he’s managing. He sounds terrified. He sounds hateful. What has happened to his man?

“You killed MY SON!” He screams at you. A sob of a scream. Spittle flies from his jagged teeth when his mouth opens. On closer inspection, his skin is pallid, and his bones are pushing almost out uncomfortably against the practically nonexistent muscle. What has happened to this man? 

You’ve seen people like this, coming back from espionage missions and dying days later. Scarred by torture and imprisonment. 

His son. 

“Eridan.” 

There’s a lapse of silence. A very sharp breath is taken to your left. Dave. Why?

“Don’t you _dare speak his name!_ ” Ampora barks at you. His grip never loosens on your mother. Her eyes stream tears that catch the firelight under the still darkening sky. Crystalline droplets track down her face. You’ve never seen your mother so afraid. Kankri, far behind you, whines. A shrill sound that screeches like dragging two sharp pieces of glass against one another. His teeth gnash loudly, and he tries to roar. Your mother’s distress increases his own, even as his attempt at noise comes out choked and confused. 

Ampora cackles at the noise, his eyes bulging. “We tortured it until he didn’t even want to See anymore!”

He’s talking about the Thing again. Your eyes burn. A cage, your father, Seeing—

Light have mercy on us all.

After his fit of laughter is done, Ampora keeps going. There’s this compulsion lingering behind his eyes. This willingness for death and destruction. This pain, this hope of not continuing. He needs to tell you, and you’re helpless but to listen. He has your mother, half of your world, hostage. And he will force you to hear every last detail. 

“He tried burning out his eyes staring at the sun! Hours and hours on end, just staring at the sun. Once he realized that we wouldn’t let him starve, that is.”

There’s an undeniable inkling and truth that isn’t letting you ignore it anymore. It clicks firmly into place like the deadlock on a door. 

“No,” you try. Denying. Dave makes a confused noise behind you. How does he not get it yet? 

Your mother shouts the same word, clearly hearing the words for their meaning. A small trickle of blood creeps down her throat, and she sobs. 

Kankri whines again. He’s confused, panicked, disbelieving. 

“My Good Lord even seared a handy little phrase into the poor animal’s mind,” Ampora simpers once more. “We healed him up, and wiped all of it away. Wiped it of anything and everything but his time in a cage. And then we put him where he would find you,” Ampora nearly sings. And there it is. It’s out there. 

The broken teeth of the man before you clack and he winces. A few tears are pooling in his pointed cheeks. 

The rage from your chest burns in your throat, and scorches your lungs. The bile rises within you, and you feel sick. 

“When the first few times didn’t work out, I tried paying Serket to take care of this. She’s a professional, after all.”

Dave curses next to you, a curt and shallow spitting of a word. Aradia stops growling, and makes a confused noise. She and Dave are still angry, not yet struck with the puzzle’s conclusion. But something else has caught their attention. 

“But she saw Strider in the village and failed to aim correctly,” Ampora sneers, like he’s discussing someone’s meal choice at a party. “Didn’t want to hurt her comrade, you know. Didn’t care much about you. But then, business is business.”

“I trusted her,” Dave spits. No one answers him. You don’t even know who she is.

“It didn’t have to come to this. You could have just been a good man and died. Or offed yourself,” Ampora says, bringing attention back to him. He jerks the knife, making your mother flinch once again. His voice is almost soft. “I didn’t have to make your father’s own beast turn on you. English said it would come to this, too. How did I not believe him?”

You find your voice. Kankri is painfully silent. His teeth still gnash, and you don’t want to think. “Why?” you ask. 

A shimmer of doubt goes over Ampora’s face like a film. You take a step toward him, and he doesn’t move the knife at all. It’s progress, maybe you can still… can you prevent this? Can you help this? You’re not good enough, you’re weak, you’re foolish. But you can try, you can try anything to prevent the alternative.

“You think Lord English with reward you for what you’ve done? That he’ll make good on anything he’s promised you?” You try. Your hands clench instinctively, and Ampora’s eyes zero in on your sickles. “You think it will give you back what you’ve lost?” 

It was the wrong thing to say.

“Your words won’t bring my son back! Nothing will,” Ampora cries again. He’s missing so many teeth. The wounds inside are still fresh, still wet. Blood pools on his tongue, and at the corner of his mouth. His flesh is rotting, clearly, and as he turns his face toward your mother, he shouts again. “Nothing can help me, but _you_ , you will have your _**comeuppance!**_ ”

Your mother heaves over his hand, sobbing out in panic and fear. Ampora reels in disgust, shoving her away as her spit-up runs over his hand. She falls to the ground, and scrabbles at the grass to pull her away from the smoldering structure. 

All compassion dashed at the sight of your mother out of his reach, you take the given opportunity. It’s all you need to rush toward the man, sickles up and ready to cleave his face in two. 

He shouts. One last word. 

You can’t quite make it out. It gets muffled in the wind from your rushing ears as you strike him down. Strike him for daring to harm your family. Strike him for pulling your peace from you. Strike him with pity and remorse for the things that he has gone through.

Even as blood from his neck is spraying the ground, you hear a fearful, wretched noise. From behind you, there comes a pitchy keening that twists itself into a screech. The ground shakes, and your stomach attempts to empty itself as a wave of hatred and cold seeps over the area. 

You recognize Aradia’s confused, and then panicked howl. Dave grunts as she dives to pick him up from the ground and put some distance between them and the thing that made the noise. They end up somewhere near your left, and you hear Dave asking your mother if she’s alright. 

Something large and white-hot whines as you duck to avoid it. The barn in front of you bursts into splinters and shards, and your mother screams.

When you turn away from Ampora’s corpse, Kankri’s mouth is aglow. His wings are spread to touch the sun, and his tail shears the earth with each great swipe. His eyes are large and yellow, sifting through a haunting array of sands and sight. They drip a sickening scarlet. 

Dave makes some kind of warble, a shocked sound. His hands are shaking, when you glance at him. He is staring at you, and his eyes are full of fear again. Fear at you, fear at Kankri. Will he ever trust you after this? After seeing you strike down a man like that? Aradia is coiled defensively around Dave, making very distressed noises. Has she tried talking to Kankri yet? You hope to the Light that she doesn’t. Kankri has been manipulated to destroy you. He won’t stop until you’re gone, if you get the gist right. Ampora released him with the intent of your death happening as a result. The knowledge of what you have to do thuds in your gut.

You must… you have to defend them. All of them.

You want to see Dave again. You want to hold your mother in your arms. You want to be there for the birth of John’s heir. You want to taste Jane’s cooking, and while away with Terezi, and live. You want to live.

And Lord English wants you to die. 

You’re iron. Impenetrable. Scowl set, chin firm, hands more steady than they have been in years.

“Get mother out of here,” you tell Dave. He visibly jumps, only daring to glance away from Kankri for a moment, to see your eyes. 

“You can’t—“ Dave tries to dissuade you. Kankri paces slowly, waiting for you to accept his duel. He’s waiting for you to fight back. And you have no other choice. 

“I’m the only one here who has fought his kind before,” you push on. You won’t look at him. You can’t look at him. 

Like Rose said. It has to be this way. 

Kankri takes a step forward. His eyes are only fixed on you. 

Finally he sees, and he is unwavering and cruel. Desperate, hungry for blood. And in the depths you glimpse panic, confusion. He can’t stop himself. 

Dave stares at the deadly figment as well. 

“I love you,” he says, and it’s as if he doesn’t want to hear a reply. He doesn’t want to hear you say it back, like it’s the last time. There’s a sob from your mother. You’re quiet as they climb onto Aradia’s back.

They fly away.

So maybe Dave doesn’t fear you, yet. He said once that your past deeds didn’t influence how he felt about you. Will he still allow himself to love you when he’s seen you at your full violent potential?

Everything in you is crying out in rejection of where you still stand. Your feet seem to sink into the earth, your hands seem to almost weaken on your sickles. Your eyes feel dry and your throat aches. The lightning flashes, and you want it to be a dream. You want him to turn into a figment in the mud. His claws slash in the ground impatiently and you can almost imagine that he’s just one of the others. It doesn’t make it any better. 

Nothing could be better.

Another ball of fire whizzes over your head. You dodge forward, sprinting easily under the flames. 

It has begun. 

You advance on your father’s dragon, circling him slowly, orbiting his body. He is deadly from every angle. Sharp claws, sharp tail, sharp teeth. Large, sweeping wings, thick armor plates, harshly pointed crest. Kankri follows you with those horrible eyes, slashes at you with his claws. You spin, cutting at the air. 

_I am sorry._

The voice catches you off guard, and you stumble. One claw manages to catch the back of your calf. Luckily it’s the metal one, and his cut bounces off. It dislodges something in your ankle, though, and you hear it clank. Hopefully it will continue to hold up. You’ve gotten so good at not noticing your leg when you spar with Dave. 

_My mind is my own, for now. My body is lost._

There is enough pause, even this soon in the fight, as the dragon you came to know and love shakes out his claw. The metal jarred him, apparently. It’s suddenly easy to see how weak he is. To see how the lack of exercise and physical activity has taken its toll on the dragon’s body until now. True, he is still stronger than you, and blessed with his own natural weapons. But against your knowledge and tactics? It would be a mercy killing.

_I am afraid,_ Kankri whispers to you. 

Mercy killing.

It’s him. It feels like home. His voice fills you with the warmth and confidence that he eagerly pumps to you. You run forward, cutting out with both arms at once. You catch his wing as he raises it to defend himself. The body’s eyes glow through the gap you rend. Slick, pale fluid and blood ooze from the massive tear. 

_I cannot stop it._

You know.

_You have to kill me to stop it, small one,_ he whispers. 

A tear pricks. You blink it back. Crying will only hinder you in combat. There is no point crying over common knowledge. Not when so much is at stake. Not when you can’t stop any of it. You force yourself to jump over Kankri’s swinging tail, and you can a cut in on the back of one of his hind legs.

_I,_

A shaking shriek, and a burst of fire sails over your next dodge. His movement is hindered now. 

The giant wings flap, attempting to buffet you off your footing. He cannot fly, even still. But the wind pushes you back several feet, and you almost trip. The next snap of his jaws almost gets your good leg. 

_I love you, Karkat. Remember that._

You break through another wing flap, and your sickle gets caught horribly at the joint. You twist it, and it yanks out with a few jolts. The wing lies broken and useless on the ground after that. Kankri’s body screams in pain, a whimpering and unforgiving cry. It almost halts you. But you can’t. You can’t stop. 

_I love you._

The voice is pained. But so gentle. It contrasts horribly with the screaming beast before you. 

“I love you too,” you find yourself whispering. It sticks to your throat.

That’s all that he is now. A beast. You slash at the beast’s neck the next time he snaps his jaws and swipes at you, and then jump back. Your arm swings wildly out, and the left sickle gets stuck in his foot. Kankri’s body wails horribly as he swipes out again in anger. A stream of fire, this time, bursts from his mouth. You run desperately from it.

_You have grown up so well._

The voice is fading, weakening.

The jet of fire ends. It couldn’t keep going forever, and you immediately run back into the range of his physical attacks. Kankri attempts to clothesline you with his wing, and manages to catch you in the stomach. You fall, winded, and his tail whips down your side. A long gash appears in your clothing entire seconds before your skin decides to split. Somehow your prosthetic belt remains intact, but pain makes you scream, instead. All down your left side, you feel blood seeping.

When you look up, a large, clawed foot is coming straight down for your head. You barely manage to roll out of the way in time. 

_You have made your mother very proud._

You manage to cut far enough into that same foot that he howls again. But you retrieve the weapon this time. Too-hot blood sprays down your front, and you leap out of the way of the returning tail.

Too late, you notice the sound of the ocean growing dramatically louder. The cliffs are at your back. 

_Your father would have been so proud of you. He was always so proud._

The Beast’s mouth opens wide. The ball of white-hot flame coils in its throat. 

The cliff at your back. You’re trapped this time. Cornered on a slippery outcropping. The blood loss is making you feel so weak.

_I love you, small one._

Kankri’s voice is so full of sadness, so full of love. He shows you your father’s face, pushes memories of his voice and your childhood into you. He gives you the love, he gives you the passion. Gives you the pride of being a part of your family. Gives you an image of yourself he’s put together from others’ memories of you. Gives you everything you could have wanted. Gives you his name. One last time. 

_Now._

You furiously shake your head. Your tongue feels too big in your mouth. The large fangs are so close to your body, the throat is getting brighter. The fire is blinding in its charge. It bubbles in the back of his throat. It’s a certainty. You can’t. You just can’t. 

_Please._

You step forward, a pulse of dread in your heart. It burns at you.

_Thank you, small one._

You yank your sickle up through the center of the gaping jaw.

The heat stops forming in his mouth as your blade bisects his brain. The flame finishes, dies. 

The great eyes shift around in panic. Within seconds, they have turned white once more. Claws scrabble uselessly on the rocks, and Kankri’s whole body twitches horribly. The eyes are filling with tears even as he fails to find one last desperate clutch of purchase on the slippery cliff stone. 

The adrenaline is still singing in your lungs as the great body and tail slip past you, falling below. 

You don’t hear a spine snap. 

You don’t hear the waves.

You don’t hear anything. 

Great leathery wings flap uselessly against the updraft. The black scales shine delicately in the returning light, as they scatter on the rocks beneath the cliff.

Your sickles shine there, with his body. They’ve killed their last dragon. And they will die with him. 

Your throat is raw.

The ocean is so blue.

 

* * *

 

At some point, you find a healer at your side. Dave is before you, and you’re in the house. 

Her touch is wary and gentle as she assesses and repairs your wounds on the spot. The scar running parallel down your side is something you chose to keep. It will serve as a constant reminder, you think. It’s something you need to not be taken from you. Not yet. 

Someone says something about Madjem being okay. She’s resting in her room, and she wants you to see her when she wakes up, Dave says.

It might be hours, or days, before you open your eyes enough to watch them transport the body. Your mother holds your shoulders and walks you up the hill, strong as ever. She is so strong, even as her hands shake. What are you? 

Nevertheless, the body must be taken as soon as possible, lest it start to rot. 

The place is set and determined, on top of a high hill, under a tall tree. Rose and Dirk move the earth for the burial. Aradia and Damara, Equius, and Latula carry the body. How did they know to come at such short notice? How long have you been unaware of your surroundings? Latula and Terezi left weeks ago. Did Kankri have threads in everyone? 

Roxy is there, and she takes rocks from a nearby limestone quarry to place upon the dirt. You and your mother lay them upon the mound. It feels right to do, feels like tradition. Dave helps you after a while, and so do his siblings. Jane comes to lift and lay a stone. Jake lays three, tears streaming down his face. M comes up the hill with Kanaya and Porrim, and they help him lay a large piece. John, and Jade, and Terezi each lay a stone.

All four of the other dragons present, sit silently in a row and watch the mound grow in height.

You observe in silence as Aradia and Damara blow upon the pile. 

It turns a sharp, molten black. Impenetrable by time and weathering. Dark like Kankri’s scales. The dragon emblem burns on your skin, prickles the flesh of your scars. 

After everyone has left, you sink to your heels. Your mother is beside you, one hand on your shoulder. For a long time, you stare. So long that your mother walks back home. You should go after her and make sure that she’s alright. You should check and see that she’s not still full of that fear from before. 

But you can’t move.

You can see the ocean from here. It lies, vast and mostly silent. The blue sky against it mocks you. The wind bites your cheeks, and scores your stance. The sun beats on the top of your head, and sweat prickles down into the crease between your shoulder blades. 

The careening flow of time circles around you. Brisk and quiet. 

He’s gone. 

Everything is stale. 

For good, this time, he’s gone. 

A fly buzzes about your left ear for what feels like hours. 

You stand up. He’s gone. 

You turn. He’s gone. 

You walk home.

 

* * *

 

When you get to the house, you find mother slumped, leaning on one hand in a chair. Her face is screwed up, and marked with bright streaks from tears.

As you sit before her, she looks up. Even though she says nothing, everything is said. Her eyes are full of despair, and you reach out to touch one of her cheeks. Weakly, shallowly, she curves her face into it. 

“Are you alright?” You ask. 

“I’m stronger than you think, my son,” she murmurs, and cups your hand in one of hers. Still holds it to her skin. 

“Are you okay?” You repeat.

For a brief moment, her eyes fill with tears. It ebbs away, very gradually. The light from the candle on the table lights her tired features. 

“You saved me from it all, so I have nothin’ to fear. And yet, without Kankri, I fear so much. I fear being alone again. I fear this Lord English,” she whispers. “And I’m so very sad.”

You want to make everything right for her. 

“You aren’t alone. I’m here,” you murmur to her, and she doesn’t move as you kiss her forehead. “And I’ll let you fear for nothing,” you add. 

She sighs. “I worry for you too, son. More than I can convey.”

After that, mother stands. She kisses you on the forehead in return, and cradles your head in her hands for but a moment. In that moment, she gives you all the strength she has.

Sometime after she walks away and into her own room, Dave rushes into the house. He breathes heavily, glances around the room in a panic. When he sees you, he heaves a great breath before striding to you. 

“You weren’t where I left you on the hill, I was so worried.”

His tone is soft, and he picks up your face to inspect it. He doesn’t fear you. He’s here, and he wants to be here. Soon he’s occupying the chair your mother vacated. It’s silent for a long few moments. He just stares into your eyes, the red into the dark. Dave is also mourning Kankri. Everyone is. Suddenly you feel absurdly selfish again. So selfish.

“I’m…” he tries. It cuts off, and he inches closer. So much about him is full of sorrow and regret. So much of him is sad. 

“I’m sorry.”

You blink. It registers, sinks in, and you slump. Your mother, you need to protect her. And Dave, you need to protect him. Everyone. It’s something you planted within yourself while fighting… Kankri. Lord English will stop at nothing to have you dead. Even with his two main players gone. 

You have to find him first. 

“I have to kill him myself, or he’ll stop at nothing,” you say. 

Dave starts. With no small amount of hesitation, he asks, “Who?” He knows already. But he doesn’t want to be right. 

“Lord English,” you murmur in return. Like you’re talking about the weather. You have to kill Lord English, or he won’t stop. Just like the weather, ironically, it’s also horribly inevitable. Either he dies, or you do. There is no use asking the Queen for help. She can do nothing directly against their treaty. And there is nothing anyone else can do. There is no one with as much power as he and the Queen. 

Dave’s face comes into your field of vision. It eclipses the light of the candle, makes your brow relax. “Karkat, no, you can’t. He’ll… if this is what he can do, what he _will_ do—“

“I have to, Dave,” you reply. Simple. 

And Dave… he looks furious. Frustrated. His eyes go to shadows and his brow furrows, and he looks as if he wants so desperately to shout. But either he can tell that you’re not giving up, or he can tell that you’re right. Instead of arguing, instead of saying that you can’t, again, he purses his lips. Your head isn’t moving properly on your neck, but you follow him with your eyes. 

It’s strange being so aware of how numb you feel. When Dave reaches around, to crush his lips to yours, molten metal tries to seep through the cold steel. The metal is quenched by the few small, hot tears that seem to come from nowhere. They drag too slowly across the soot on your cheekbones. His touch is desperate and hopeless. His eyes are both hopeful and angry. 

“I have to, Dave,” you repeat. “I have to. It’s my duty. It’s what I have been tasked with.”

“You’re not a _soldier_ anymore, Karkat!” Dave almost shouts against your mouth. The hiccup of his voice chokes on the hard letters of your name. Ferocious, he clutches your face in his hands, and bites harshly at your chin. The sting of it surfaces you. 

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whimpers.

It mechanizes one of your arms, and your fingers carve lines into his hair even as you finally manage to kiss him back. Weak, he makes a noise. An apology, a regret. A beggar to your certainty. 

“No, I’m not a soldier anymore,” you breathe. But you can atone for your sins. You can fix things for yourself, and for so many others. And he will keep coming. English will come for you, and your family. He will go to anything, unstoppable, to each his ends. By any means, he will have you in a grave. 

You must have him dead, first. It has to be you. He will settle for no one else. 

Dave knows this, too. Even as you bury your face in his shoulder. Even as you scream at your life and your mourning and your pain. He holds you close, and knows. Dave holds your shaking body, and whispers comfort into your ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well that happened  
> please dont hate me hahahaha
> 
> as usual i love you all, and hope you're having a great week! next chap will probably be posted up next saturday or sunday, depending! im prolly gonna have to rewrite it, cause i had to rewrite a LOT of this one. it went through some major overhaul cause when i opened it, it was painfully crappy. thats what happens when i give myself a time crunch, lmao
> 
> love y'all, sleep well <3


	30. EPISODE 29

It’s morning, and you’re sitting on the edge of your bed. 

That same old sun-shaft through the crack of the window is making an uncomfortably warm spot on the top of your right foot. The left foot gleams merrily up at you from the floor. 

You still need to get it fixed.

After realizing your cause, you had come to sleep. To rest, before you made good on your intention. A plan is tiptoeing gently around the edge of your mind, wary of being ripped to shreds and remade for the eighteenth time. 

When you had lain down, Dave hadn’t left you. Aradia had carefully come into the room, somehow coiled her mass on the floor surrounding your bed. Dave wrapped himself around you. 

And you slept, to your own surprise. It had been shockingly easy to slip into. 

Soft, calm, the best sleep you had of your own choice in years. 

Waking up, it had been a lazy relief to find them still there. Today you need to go to Rose Lalonde. It has been a long time since you spoke with her, in any real capacity. But she will tell you where to find him. 

She _will._

After you woke up, before dawn, you traveled to the front room of your house. You cleaned your mother-of-pearl blades until they shone. You cleaned them until they rid themselves of the manifestations of your actions. You cleaned them until Dave came to still your hands, and take you back to bed, and curl himself around you once more.

You did not sleep, that time. After dawn passed, Dave got up, said he would be back in about an hour. So you sat up as well, and you looked at your hands. And that’s where you are now. 

You’ve mounted your leg onto yourself. Since it was calibrated it’s worked even better than before, up until yesterday. The hinges are slightly firmer, and you’d been gifted with a filigreed hard brass plate for the shin. Your mother crafted it, carefully, with a lot of patience. 

So you will carry her into battle with you. 

The emblem around your neck sits heavy on your chest. It will hold the pieces of your father and Kankri that you will carry into battle with you. 

The remaining warmth in your heart is the piece of Dave that you will carry. Your leg is you, now, but it will serve as the piece of its engineer that you will carry. The food that’s sitting warm in you will be the piece of Jane, and the village. The decorated sickles will be the piece of the Queen, shining and bright. You will carry them all, in this task to see the man who hunts you. 

You would have been the fish in the barrel before, but now you are a snake. And you will lash out at anyone who dares to imply that they could end you. 

Your fists clench, and your knuckles pop. 

You stand up. 

You don your belt, with the sickles attached by their leather bands. 

You slip your foot into your old boot, tired and worn and still flecked with dried mud. 

You shiver into the cold embrace of a full chainmail shirt. It had been lingering, ready, at the bottom of your chest. As you slide your tunic over it, you find it snug. Comfortable. Familiar. 

You walk out into the front room. Dave is waiting there, weighed down with a sword across his back and a larger visor shielding his face. His mouth is set. 

“I’m coming with you,” he says. 

“No!” You shout at him, and to his dignity, Dave doesn’t flinch. He wears hard black leather bracers around his arms and legs, and a very light mail tunic beneath his shirt. Where did he procure even light armor? Your first instinct is to blame your mother. He must have told her where you were going. You’ve seen this set lingering on the back wall of the forge, next to a couple others.

Anger filling you, you step around Dave and out into the sunlight. 

Your ankle clangs as you walk.

It’s a fairly cool morning, as a contrast to the past week. There are industrious noises coming from the forge, but your mother is standing at the doorway. Under the shaded canopy you created for Kankri. Her arms are crossed and her shoulder is set, but she looks so…

Sad. 

A good bit calmer, you cross the yard and walk up to her. Your mother’s face is steeled. It reminds you of the day you left for your first, shorter tour. And the day you left for your second.

 

* * *

 

_Makara is standing before your mother, in the doorway of your house. His boots look so strange against the sand. A letter is held under one elbow, and mother is standing tall. Even against him, she stands tall. Your leading general from the end of your last year of service. All of his facial features are familial traits, aside from the triple scars that glide too smoothly across his cheeks and forehead. His face is long, gaunt. Eyes hollow. You will never look like that, you think._

_Unwisely._

_The items in your arms nearly fall as you run to the pair._

_Makara has a missive for you._

_Your mother does not cry that night when she sends you off. She congratulates you on your promotion._

_Her arms shake around you, but she stills them._

_The day the letter had come from your father’s commander, you had been sixteen. Sixteen, and madjem did not cry before you. She watched you get upset, break things, sob into her chest. She watched you curl up like a small child inside his spare travel coat. By that point, she had been settled in the idea that he might not return from war._

_Today, it’s an uncertain thing. She wobbles._

_As if she’d not expected to have you sent away again. As if she’d hoped that it was an impossibility._

_“The opportunity of a lifetime will not present itself again, Vantas,” Makara hisses softly._

_“You will be a colonel. We will reward you greatly for your return to service,” he says over tea, like loose air escaping what should be an airtight seal._

_A glance at your mother, and she nods._

_You reach out, and accept the letter._

_“Why me?” You ask._

_“You have shown exceptional tactical capability and dedication to your fellow soldier. You draw people naturally to do as you ask, and they do it willingly. These things are valuable in the role in which we need you,” he replies. Easily. Almost too easily._

_But the numbers on the page… your mother is successful on her own. But what if she could want for nothing? What if she could start making things with more precious metals, and live in a house that didn’t need patches on the roof for the sandstorms? What about a place with more water? With no sandstorms at all?_

_It’s your choice, here. You could continue living the way you are. When you left, it was with your superior’s approval, and little notice from others. There is no reason you’re obligated to return._

_“We will further discuss the matter of your compensation later,” Makara continues, crossing his lanky knees. His shadowy purple uniform, almost black with its depth, just accentuates his pallor. “Though I have brought with me no small number of an initial offer.”_

_“What if I requested that my mother be moved to a safe location, unconnected to me so far in my life? Instead of taking the full initial offer,” you ask, looking him straight in the eye._

_Your mother makes a noise of protest, but then quiets. She’s also realized that this would be a good idea. Suddenly a colonel. You. A poorer kid from a small town in the desert. There would be jealousy. There would be enemies from Lord English after her._

_Makara is grinning._

_“We could arrange that,” he says. Softly, carefully. “I take it that this signals your acceptance of the recruitment.”_

_You stand, and bow before him slowly, with grace. Like a gentleman of rank. His surprise is evident in the curve of his brow._

_“Yes, sir General, sir,” you say._

_He holds out his long hand._

_When you take it, with some hesitation, he actually smiles. But it’s not a good smile._

_“We will be on closer footing, soon, **colonel.** It’s time you shook my hand properly,” he says to you. _

_“Yes, sir.”_

_“Now, about your mother’s location change. I can have men here within two weeks. All trustworthy, now to worry you one bit.”_

_You settle back into your seat. Candlelight flickers on his protruding nose._

_Mother sits straight as well, just next to you. Her hands wring in her lap._

 

* * *

 

She looks fit to burst into tears.

Her mourning Kankri’s death was different from yours. It’s easy to tell that she hasn’t slept, and has barely eaten. Your mother does not weep in front of others, as a general rule.

“I gave him that armor,” she admits, up front. Her lip quivers. “He told me what you plan to do. It’s a fool plan.”

You remain silent.

“But you won’t go it alone if I have any say. So you will take Dave. And Dirk, as well. He has been fitted this morning,” she says. And her voice is shaking. The familiar auburn eyes burn into you with the force of the sun, with all the power of the Light. There is no dissuading her. 

“I will not lose my son. I will not lose the only one I have left,” she finishes. 

Your mother finally starts to weep when you wrap her in your arms. It’s ugly and loud. Her tears stain your tunic, and your hands rub her back in some kind of show of comfort that you’re not quite sure how to give. 

“Now let me fix that leg before you go off. I’ll not have you wanderin’ around in a piece of faulty equipment,” she mutters crossly. You nod.

Her arms tighten like a vice around you when you try to part. 

It’s almost impossible to push her away. But she goes. Her heel scrapes so loudly in the dirt as she turns back into the shop.

When you sit on the bench, she looks so tired. The box of small-as-small-can-be tools sits before her, alongside a pair of small tongs to retrieve whatever was making the racket inside your limb. 

Dave is standing in the doorway, a silent observer. He looks so natural in armor. His posture is straight, gait even throughout, shoulders strong and feet widely spaced. It’s uncanny. It hurts you that he would have to wear armor at all. 

Something clanks into a bowl, and you look down to see that it was only a screw. That screw sure made a racket inside you. To be fair, it was the one in the center of your kneecap, which holds the kneecap to the shin support. It’s a wonder your leg didn’t just fall apart. 

Very carefully, your mother retrieves screws from around it, to take apart the front of the leg. She must make sure that the screw hole on the inside didn’t strip. That would be bad.

With her muttering, however, it seems like it hasn’t. You expected more words from her. You expected more anger, or sadness, or _something_. But she just repairs, silently. 

When it seems like she’s done, she sits back on her heels. Her eyebrows are furrowed as she stares up at you from the floor. 

Dirt stains the knees of her pants, sweat pools in the armpits of her shirt. It’s hot. It’s extraordinarily hot here in the forge. How did you ever stand it? 

Her hands are shaking on her lap. 

“Please come back,” she beseeches you, one more time. 

You can’t tell her yes. It would be too sweet of a lie. She doesn’t deserve weak, false reassurances.

So you turn to leave. 

Dave follows.

 

* * *

 

You walk all the way to the Lalonde estate. 

When you arrive at the front doors, it is light inside. 

The chandeliers gleam with tiny suns, and the doors to the outside are wide open. All of them. It’s as if you’re seeing an entirely different house. 

Rose stands in the middle of the foyer, this time, waiting for you. 

The skin around her eyes is gray, darkened into slate. And her eyes themselves are glowing white. The air ripples around her. Dave sucks in a breath next to you. Rose walks up to you both, and when she places her hand upon your shoulder, her visage flickers. 

“You know what I want already,” you tell her. 

“This is how it must be done,” she says. It’s a haunting echo of what she’s said before. 

“But you need only wait. You must meet him in Skaia. He will be there. He will meet you on the palace road,” she tells you. The words echo with truth, with meaning, with fortuitous outcome. The words dig into your brain and rip out the seams and then sew them back up. Rose’s hand on your shoulder burns. 

Her eyes soften, and everything about her returns to how it was. She knows things, but she doesn't know it all. And none of it is anything she can tell you.

With a wince, you shrug out from beneath her hand. Rose draws it back to herself. Her fingers clench on her chest. 

You turn, and exit the open foyer.

Dirk and Damara are waiting for you at the transportation circle outside. Roxy is standing near the edge, setting up the spell. She finishes with a flourish, and Rose goes to join her. 

You move to the center. Dave and Aradia, and Dirk and Damara, join you. 

The spell lights up. 

And you cringe as the same awful sensation from before leaves you reeling. It feels rougher, this time. The pulling fills your blood with ice, it shoots your bones with lead that makes poison leak into your veins. When the light splutters away, you feel tight in the chest. It’s almost difficult to breathe. 

There is something _wrong._ You know this immediately. 

This is Jade’s tower, but…

It’s been destroyed. 

There are massive claw marks on the walls and the doorways. The seal underneath you is cracked down the center. That won’t be how you get back, now. A pool of blood sits stagnant in the corner of the room, flies buzzing to and from it. The automaton lies broken just outside, on the stairs, leaking black oil from its chest and seams. 

It smells like rot in the room. 

It’s impossible to tell what time of the day it is, as the outside is dark with stormclouds. You don’t hear any carts or people on the ground outside. Has the city been evacuated?

Dirk and Dave both suck in breaths, but they don’t move. They’re waiting for your command.

Thankfully. 

“Dirk. Take Damara and scout the city,” you tell him. 

You desperately hope that John and Jade were away on business. Please don’t let that blood be theirs. Or Sollux’s. Oh god, Sollux.

Dirk jumps astride Damara, and they shoot out of the room. Nothing immediately attacks them on exit. That’s a good sign. 

Now you see dragging fingerprints trailing from the blood pool. There’s a crash of thunder, and the city shakes beneath your feet. 

Dave audibly grits his teeth. “You think we should fly—“ he starts.

“Silence, Strider,” you tell him. He does, without protest. 

The two of you, and Aradia, descend the stairs. “We need to go on foot. Less detection that way. I don’t hear anyone else in the city,” you explain then. Dave merely nods. 

After leaving the disturbed remnants of Jade’s tower, the streets are empty. 

The pavement is cracked, and every now and then it shakes ominously. There is smoke, but you can’t tell just where it’s coming from. There are no messengers flying around, no babies crying. No people screaming. It’s all entirely too silent. There’s another shudder. 

Not a single living soul jumps out at you, or Dave. Dirk lands next to you within twenty minutes of beginning your trek. It surprises you so much that you un-clip and slide your sickles into your palms. 

“There’s no one here,” Dirk says. “Even the Cathedral is empty.”

As if on cue, a screech slices through the air. It’s coming from the palace. 

You continue walking. Steeling yourself. Dirk dismounts, and Aradia puffs smoke restlessly. 

Another screech. The dragons answer feebly. Dave’s hand goes to his sword. 

You get to the palace gates. They lie cracked open, falling off of their hinges. Giant claw marks riddle the surface. Another loud noise, but you can see who it came from, now.

It was a lure. Just as you thought.

There’s the man who could only be Lord English. Tall, skeletally thin, seeping with power even to an untrained gaze. Skin nearly green with how pale it is, how free of red it is. How free of life it is. His fingernails are disgustingly long, his hair shaved short and visibly patchy in areas. He’s here, and very real.

Standing just inside the castle walk. 

Holding a lifeless Jade by a single hand around her skull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dont worry jade probably isnt dead
> 
> decided to post this up right quick tonight cause im bored. **next chapter will be posted mid-week**. got it all up and ready but where would i be without my cliffhangers right
> 
> love yall hope yallre having a good night <3


	31. EPISODE 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check the tags they are v important.

The massive hand opens like pincers, dropping Jade’s body like a rag doll. 

Thunder crashes again and lightning strikes, and there is a great shift. The city… what’s wrong with it? A quick glance to your left affords you an answer. The great crystal… it’s flickering. What?

“Colonel. I see we have so much in common,” Lord English says. His voice is like creaking earth, sinking sand, and sincere promises of death. It spits from between his yellow teeth. It falls from his mouth, past his long robe, and down into the earth. Poisoning it. You look back at him. 

English’s eyes are wild. What does he think you have in common? His face is thin, his nose almost flat on the façade, his form gangly and concealed beneath those ragged robes that once must have been made of the finest furs. Your eyes reach his legs. The man stomps his right foot. It’s a prosthetic, like yours. But unlike yours, his appears to be solid gold, and functions with his body. Enchanted. A very expensive enchantment.

Something you thought was impossible, until this moment. 

“What did Jade Harley do to you?” You ask, calmly. Too calmly. Desperately trying to remain calm. 

Lord English laughs, and something in the air pulses. Damara and Aradia both whine, this time. They snap their jowls and the air pulses again. Fire seeps from between Aradia’s teeth, and ice from her sister. They’re agitated by something, everything, nothing you can see. 

“His magic is calling to them,” Dave says to you. “Me, too. It’s like us. It hurts.”

“Don’t worry, she’s still alive,” English tells you. His eyes have not blinked, yet. They stare at you, and only you. As if the others in this stark white courtyard are just ornaments. Something cracks out from his hands, something you cannot see. Jade’s body twitches on the ground. Her hair stands out from the marble road, black robes fluttering in a sudden wind. She’s lain at such a strange angle. “But only just.”

“What do you want?!” You yell, now. It feels so familiar. Not even a week before, you asked another man the same thing. And he was under this man’s orders. The wild eyes, the missing teeth. The crazed expression and exhaustion in his eyes. 

“I thought I made that perfectly clear, Colonel,” English shouts, with a laugh. “I want you dead!” 

You don’t really bother asking why. 

“Luckily I discovered a way to harness the energy of the great crystal! It’ll make it that much easier! All I had to do was touch it! And this little bitch thought she would be able to stop me, even after everyone else left!”

Something in your chest is solid and cold again. Sollux isn’t here, to plan with you. He will be with his family, and hopefully they’re safe somewhere. You have no tactician, no masses of troops. You have a little armor, and no magic aside from the brothers at your back. Against him, you have two dragon riders as your soldiers. And you have yourself. In this white courtyard with nowhere to hide but a few large potted plants. 

Lord English roars into the sky, and a wide beam of light pierces the heavens. It smells of ozone and water, of storms and fire from a distance. It’s like the sun concentrated, like… the ground shifts under your feet, once more. Your metal leg scrapes the ground. 

_Tick._

Your shoulders shake under their mail. Your hands loosen on the sickles in your hands, before tightening. 

_Tock._

_**No.**_

_Tick._

You are sore, but rested and fed. You are intelligent. You have weapons and armor. You have knowledge of battle that he does not, you are the Colonel and the Knight. You are the soldier. You have the strength of your friends and the knowledge that if you fail, all will fall.

_Tock._

It’s easy to brace yourself on your metal foot, and shift into a fighting stance. The rubies on the handles of your weapons shine like blood. The shell inlay gleams like the sun. The metal is light, well-made, and durable. At a second glance, crafted to be real weapons despite their decorative intent. They will do. 

_Tick._

Dave and Dirk both draw their swords behind you, feet sliding into ready stances on the marble walk. The open gates creak in the wind, smacking against the walls like ships buffeted in the sea. Aradia and Damara growl. 

_Tock._

“Oh, and these dragons will be delicious when they die,” Lord English laughs. “For siding with you, they’ll become a feast. For me, and for my own.”

_Tick._

The notion that he feeds upon the flesh of dragons makes you want to vomit. A monster. An actual monster. How many lives has he taken? Is that how he gained his power? By eating magical creatures? 

_Tock._

Dave and Dirk growl, as well. From Dirk’s side, you feel a spike of energy, and a part of you separates from yourself before he reins himself in. From Dave’s side, you feel intent. That is all. You wonder what he’s seeing. What he’s feeling. 

_Tick._

“Make sure to hold your tethers to your dragons,” you command. “Keep them in the sky.”

The world tilts, again. 

_**Tock.** _

“I’m going to kill you, and I’ll have my revenge,” Lord English is saying. And it all sounds like something you’ve heard before. In a book, or in a novel, or a dramatic stage play. It’s painful. But it’s also terrifying. Does he view himself as the hero?

_**TICK.** _

Lord English moves first. 

His body moves faster than it should be able to. His legs seem to stutter in place as he rushes you, and you’re forced to dodge. The gleaming eyes come entirely too close to your face as you roll out of his path, to his left. The swing misses you by a mere foot. When you glace back, Dave and Dirk have thankfully done the same. 

Aradia and Damara are flying together toward the aggressor. They spiral in one form, spitting a wide burst of ice and flame at their foe. He shrieks at the freezing, and howls at the burning, throwing up an arm to shield himself. 

The girls pass, separating before they can get too close, and flying away. White beams of light fruitlessly follow them into the sky. When you look at English, he is practically unscathed. His skin is lightly smoking, but there’s no visible burn damage. 

It will take a lot to stop him. With your weapons, you might have a chance. On your side, you have mainly your cunning. Dave and Dirk… they have their swords. But the swords are ceremonial, mostly. Aren’t they? Dave’s visor is thrown back when you look at him. His nose is pinched with worry. If you could see Dirk, it would probably be the same story. 

Lord English’s magic is stronger than you anticipated. You’ll need to finish this fast, if you want to win. He seems to be drawing from the crystal, as well. That will be hurting the city, and it could fall. Fast victory is key here. 

You have no tricks up your sleeve. No trump card, no free chance, no crippling blow or talisman to weaken him. But, Dirk and Dave… they have magic. Strong magic. But their magics aren’t directly combative. What can they do? Dirk has soul magic, you were told that. And Dave’s magic is related to time.

Lord English is awash with fire as a second and third stream jet futilely from Aradia’s belly. Fire, fire… Dave has fire. That’s it. You remember. Back in the bathtub. Dave heated the water. How? Did he just use Aradia’s heat? Or did he speed up the time of the water, to make the temperature rise? 

His sword. He could use that. “Dave,” you bark. His face flicks to yours so fast you’re worried for his neck. 

“Yeah?” He asks. 

“Can you make your sword hot like you did the water? Pushing the time forward might make it rust. But can you take it back?” Your voice is urgent, and you see sweat dripping down Dave’s forehead as he thinks. Dirk grunts, eyes glued to the dragons swirling in the air. They’re keeping Lord English occupied, for the time being. 

“To when it was tempered?” Dave asks. He sounds incredulous, like he hadn’t thought of it before. “It wouldn’t have too many hits, but yeah. It’s reinforced steel. I could do that.” 

A look of extreme concentration fills his red eyes. Aradia roars from the sky, and black begins to seep into Dave’s sclera. It flashes, taking over all the visible color. He groans loudly with discomfort as his hands shake, and claws pierce through the fingertips of his gloves. The scales that cover his skin rip out the seams of the gloves, and they turn to scrap as his hands assume the form of Aradia’s. 

In his grip, his sword heals itself of all scratches. And then it grows hotter and hotter. The air around it warps with the heat, and the metal very slightly bends. Dave looks up, and his mouth is full of fangs. He grins. A manic giggle bubbles from his throat, and Aradia purrs from the air. 

He races to Lord English, and slashes out. The man moves again, too quickly, flashing from place to place. Where Dave’s blade cuts, it reams the air, white-hot. Smoke drifts lazily from it. Dave’s forms are packed with power and grace. 

Dirk makes a noise from your other side. When you look at him, his mouth is hanging slightly open. He looks down at his sword in wonder, and soon his neck is creeping in golden scales. His mouth sets, and you have no idea what happened. But he darts into the fray. 

“Stay clear of his beams, in medium range,” You call out.

Lord English is deadly, calculated, too strong for his appearance to suggest. Entirely too strong. He flickers about the square between the lot of you.

A breeze to your left, a pulse of power, and you slash out again. Your target dodges, only to be pelted with a ball of flame. A jet of ice freezes the golden foot to the ground, and you leap away as Dirk comes forward. What follows the cut of his blade is near beyond explanation. It seems to almost pull at English’s very soul, ripping a piece of it away. Dirk’s eyes are black, like his brother’s. His face is coated in a fine layer of gold, and his breath makes cool fog over his shoulders.

Lord English screams once more. A great white light forms in his throat.

The energy beam nearly catches your ear as you fling yourself away yet again. Dirk dodges too, hissing. The beam has caught part of his forearm. Where it went through, some of the flesh is simply missing. Just, gone. It’s horrifying. There was no magic like this on the battlefield you walked.

Damara dives at English, roaring, time itself echoing and ice charging in a blast in her mouth. English flashes forward to meet her. Dirk cuts at him again as he passes, spinning to try to slice his arm as he passes. 

Dirk’s sword makes a clean cut through English’s arm. The blade goes right through without rending flesh, but as it passes, there is a sound like ripping metal. A large section of ethereal space follows the blade. It’s sucked into the metal with a noise like a gong being scraped along the edge. 

English cries out even as he swings his other arm through the air. Damara is caught on the hand, somehow, and thrown across the courtyard. 

She doesn’t get back up. 

Aradia shrieks, and Dave shouts something at her. She stays in the air, making furious noises. A ball of fire comes for English on the ground, and he dodges easily. The flames burst behind him, scorching a potted plant to ash. When he stops, his right arm is hanging limp by his side. He’s staring at it furiously. What did Dirk _do_ to him?

Dirk’s face and eyes are back to normal, and he looks pained. 

You leap forward at him, this time. Dual cuts in a cross across his chest tear the robe he wears. A single skeletal hand punches out at you. You catch it in the gut, and find yourself choking at the pressure. Dave comes forward and slashes at the arm. It’s quickly withdrawn, and English is retreating again. 

He moves a little slower, now. It’s nearly visible when he blinks behind you, now. Another blow barely misses your back as you duck around it, and take a swing up at his vulnerable belly. Dave cuts at his arm again. Dirk is there, as well, pulling you out of the way as English shouts yet another energy blast directly below himself, at you. It misses by a hair. The ozone stings your nostrils as it passes.

Dirk’s arm is bleeding on you from the gap where his flesh used to be. It’s not too much missing, but enough to be grotesque. How is he still moving? 

Dave is still fighting, using the leverage from English dodging upward away from his sword to kick him square in the nose. 

It sends the man reeling backwards, clumsy, unable to flash away, and a massive ball of flames hits him in the middle of his chest. Directly on the slash marks you just made. Finally, English makes a pained noise. It’s weak, vulnerable. It almost sounds like a child. It’s disarming.

Dave runs as another beam of light sweeps from him up to Aradia, in the sky. It carves a mountain of rubble out of a stripe in the ground. 

“Wrap your arm, soldier,” you yell curtly at Dirk, and run back in. If you can catch English while he’s still stumbling—

He’s regained his footing already. The man must be eight feet tall, strides impossibly long, coming to you and swiping at you with his free arm. Around the hand, time itself seems to rip and tear. Dave shouts something at you, and you manage to dodge just in time for it to go rolling overhead. 

Of course, that allows you the perfect opportunity to go between his legs. Blood spurts from a cut on the back of his knee. Major artery. For some reason, the fact that he still bleeds red shocks you. Dave is already jumping over your head to slash at English’s back with his molten-metal sword. He gets a cut in. 

Dirk is still standing there, in shock, when you look up. He’s tied something around his arm, now, but he’s almost immobilized. There’s something cracked in his expression. His face itself seems to wobble in space. Like a second part of himself is breaking away at an unseen seam. 

“DIRK!” You yell at him. The part of himself that’s breaking off snaps back, like a branch. He looks at you, confused. Shocked. Just at you, too, not at what was happening to him. And he’s suddenly alert and aware. After looking up, he manages to dodge an errant beam of light. 

English has turned toward Dave, temporarily distracted. 

“You’re useless here, get Jade out! Come back for Damara, we’ll protect her!” You tell him. And Dirk, after a second’s hesitation, obeys. His orders from his commander are absolute. Your orders are absolute. They always have been. For everyone. You’ve never questioned it. You will not question it.

English charges a beam in Dirk’s direction, ready to strike. You manage to move fast enough to hook a sickle around his neck, and pull. To avoid being beheaded, English jerks his chin, and the beam fizzles in the clouds. 

Dave cuts with his sword at the legs as English twists out of the embrace of your blade, and Aradia blows a stream of almost blue fire. You cut in with your other sickle, making a clean line of red up his back. The ruby inlays drip actual blood, this time. 

You circle around as fast as you can, and with your metal leg you kick English in the stomach. 

Dave steps under, and with the sickening stench of burning flesh, pushes his sword through the meaty flesh of the skeletal shoulder. When he rips it out, he tears upwards and takes out the joint as well. As if stunned, he hesitates before diving out of the path of another rending energy beam. When you look into his eyes, he is shaken. 

Dave has probably never realized the potential of his weapons to cleave the life from another living thing. Now, he’s forced to learn. A hollow part of you feels a flash of sympathy for him. You’ll prevent him from needing to feel it ever again, if you make it out of this fight. 

Lord English’s arms both hang limp at his side. The impossibly tall man stumbles back again. Unable to focus due to the pain, he fires off at random. The teeth in his gums, once sharp, are melting into his mouth from the power he could not contain. It’s disorienting how the rest of him is unaffected. Just the teeth, the long fangs, curving inward and dripping onto his tongue. 

He is weakened. 

It would be easy to tear his head off, now. Dave is limping from a gash you hadn’t yet seen, on the front of his thigh. He looks exhausted. Aradia’s fireballs have faded into much less, barely gasps of flame that don’t even burst when they reach the ground. Dave’s sword fades back to its previous state, the scales on his hands receding into his sleeves and his eyes turning back to their familiar red. 

They haven’t fought in a long battle before. They lack the endurance and stamina that still pump through you. Their adrenaline probably ran out long ago, but yours is conditioned to race your heart until the going is safe. 

Lord English stumbles back again, losing balance as his arms swing to and fro without his say. One hangs on by just the muscle on the bottom, sickeningly dragging on his sleeve. Vestigial. Useless. Deadweight. 

He trips to one knee. It’s near impossible for him to stand, now. The power of the Great Crystal is leaving him in sharp bursts as he loses focus to the pain of his limbs and melting molars. The city stops shaking and groaning in wide bursts of creaks and the rumble of rubble. 

It… can be finished now. Can’t it? 

It feels slower than before, when you dodge the energy bursts to reach his other side. His back half. The weaker side, now. When you near, his eyes are rolling, leaking bright tears that shine a surreal green in the light. His skin is paler than you thought, when all you could see was the whiteness leaking from his mouth and surrounding his silhouette. 

Lightning crashes again as you leap over a badly aimed energy burst. The aura he had is all but gone. Weakened, sore, no longer pushing you back. 

And you’re behind him. He’s moving sluggishly, slowly, trying to turn around. Too slowly. 

Your arm is raised for the execution. Past your shoulder, a glimpse of his eyes shows you fear, loathing, regret. 

The eyes. Too similar to you, too hollow. 

The sickle wobbles in your palm. Sweat drips from your forehead.

Even with your sickle in the air. The very image of the dark undertaker, bleeding and tired and suffering still from the things he has done to you. To your family. To your friends. To your town. To so many others. 

Even as his breath smells of rot, and burning marrow. 

You’ve…

You’ve gotten too soft. 

You look up at Dave. His mouth is moving, but you can’t hear it. 

Dave is scrambling so sluggishly to his feet, eyes pulled wide in stricken fear as a single, high note rings in your ears. He can’t move fast enough. He’s hurt. He’s bleeding too much. Dave is bleeding too much. And you worked so hard to protect him.

A crackling whisper jolts into the deafness.

“Got you,” Lord English says.

Dave barely manages to duck to the side as coursing, angelic light spears from within the broken, mangled maw. 

Aradia crashes into you, and you both are sent careening away from the attack. Her head knocks the wind from you, and she springs up, unhurt. Something aches wrongly deep in your chest. English falls to the ground, facing you. Drags his arms. 

You can’t breathe but you need to move, need to get away. Aradia is exhausted but she tries to grip your shoulders, to pull you out of the way. It manages to avoid one attack, and you try to desperately regain your balance and senses before you’re dropped to the ground again. Wobbly ankles, weak knees, your body had given up. The stone meets your shoulder and then your chin. The raw, lacerating pain of impact shivers into your skull.

And Lord English is there. And Lord English opens his wide jaw, red dripping from all of the orifices of his face. Onto the ground, it drips, drips and pools. The last burst he has. But he will destroy you with it. 

And Lord English’s chin is smashed to the pavement.

 

 

And Lord English dies. 

 

 

Two large golden prongs protrude from his eyes as he is speared through the skull. A third rips out what is left from his nose. His eyes are dark, unseeing. Devoid of light. Of life. 

You look away as the trident is ripped back out. Instead you look at the Queen. 

She stands there, with the Princess, eyeing the blood on her weapon distastefully. She kicks Lord English’s body. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t make it here sooner, Colonel Vantas,” she says. 

A single blink. 

_What?_

The Crown Princess speaks up from next to her. 

“We were negotiating with the late Lord Engfish’s sister about kelp with power takeover. It had to be done reely quickly. We Saw this harpooning, today. And evacu-baited the city,” she says. The Princess seems to be speaking more softly to you, quietly nattering. 

You’re shell-shocked. It’s… over? 

The city doesn’t feel any brighter.

 

 

It finally starts to rain. 

 

 

The princess Feferi walks to Dave, first. She places a hand over the cut on his leg, and he cries out briefly. When her hand is taken away, he is healed. 

He is healed. 

Your body sighs, and without your consent your elbows drop you. You try to prop yourself up, and only make it halfway before everything starts to hurt again. In between one blink and the next, you see Dave push himself to his feet, staring in shock at the corpse before you. 

“Colonel?” The Queen asks. 

“Thank you, your majesty,” you say. 

The Princess is in front of you, now. It happened at a strange pace. Like it was stuttering. Aradia, uninjured, is by your side as well. No, she’s holding you up with her back. Did you pass out again? Shock, or relief, or something else? 

“No, I have tow thank you,” the Queen says. “Lord Engfish has been a hook in my hull for years.” 

Looking around, Damara is… her body is gone. Why is that what you’re noticing? Dave is next to your side, now, though, sitting with a hand on your shoulder. He looks fit to tears. A warmth fills your chest as you meet his eyes, a warmth you feel weakly, like trying to cure hypothermia with a candle. But it’s still there.

And… the Queen. Right. She’s talking.

“Did you know that he was trying to kill me?” You ask. 

The Queen looks mildly uncomfortable. “No,” she admits. And you believe it. Why would she lie if it was to admit to weakness? “We were also unawave of Ampora’s betroutal. Engfish had a reely good set of magic-users. We wheel try to fish for them, but it would not surprise me if they have sea-nce gone into hiding.”

That’s all you really care about, now. Forget the Queen’s strangely amiable behavior. Forget how relaxed she is about all this. Forget the fact that she’s most likely going to make you take all the credit for all this. It’s… it’s all too dizzy right now. You feel oddly calm, too, but… that’s probably shock. You’re familiar with shock.

“Dirk is fine,” Dave says to you, with no regard to either of the royalty. He knows you so well. He knows that your concern would be your friends. It makes that candle bloom a little brighter. “Aradia was talking with him. Damara is grumpy, but she’s also alright. And Jade is breathing okay.” 

“Jade? Jade Harley?” The Queen is saying. She’s leaning in close to Dave, now, and you know he’s probably a little freaked out by it. He definitely notices her now. The Queen can be very intimidating. 

“Yeah. She’s around the corner,” Dave replies, flinching. “Your Highness.”

She crosses her arms, staring him in the eye. 

Feferi’s hands are on your stomach, and you can’t bring yourself to care too much. She’s probably feeling for broken bones, if she healed Dave. And every time you move, something in you twinges. You’ve been hit in the chest very hard a few too many times. It’s amazing that the Crown Princess is a healer. And a royal witch, too.

“You’re one of the Riders that won my champion-ship aboat a few months ago,” she says, still squinting at him. Everything is a little blurry, now. Dave is nodding back, apparently a little dissuaded from speaking. Did he finally realize who he was talking to? Or did he stop caring?

It’s hard to care about anything when you’re both _alive_. And you no longer have to fear for your life. Right now, anyways. 

“Fish is going to reely hurt,” is all the warning Feferi gives you, before something in your chest snaps. 

It’s agony, and you white out. When you come to, you’re hoarse, but your chest no longer twinges when you breathe. Aradia’s mouth is open and she’s growling at Feferi. The witch has a hand open and facing the dragon, and it’s glowing a bare white blue. A threat to let her continue her work. 

“Thank you,” you croak. Dave makes a noise like he’s been punched in the stomach, and grips your hand. “Rib setting, right?”

Feferi looks pleased that you know. You’ve had ribs reset before, though not quite that many at once. 

“You’re whalecome! You had one that was just completely seaweed, and two more bracken! I’m surprised you stayed conscious, or that you corald breathe at all!”

“He’s a veteran, sweetie,” the Queen tells her. “I have a long list of his injuries somewhere. They’re dolphinitely extensive.”

It’s getting hard to tell if they’re actually making fish-related jokes that constantly, or if it’s just you. It’s possible that you’re just having a wild, pain-induced hallucination. 

Almost as suddenly as she walked up to you both, the Queen is striding across the walk again. She’s saying something about fetching you a litter or carriage to get you to Harley’s tower, since that’s most likely where you’ll be staying. And then something else about getting some help for Jade herself, and for Dave’s brother, whatever his name is. Feferi trots off behind her. Three guards stand watch over English’s corpse about fifteen yards away (when did you get so far from it?). 

It’s still raining. The water droplets are clean and bright as they hit your skin. 

Dave sits himself across your lap, drawing his thumbs across your cheekbones. The heat of his hands on your skin is so refreshing, so lovely. When you look into his eyes, past the dripping hair on his forehead, you’re home again. 

Everything relaxes as Dave leans forward to press your foreheads together. 

“You’re okay. You’re okay,” he’s muttering, over and over. To himself, to you, to both of you. It doesn’t matter. Dave’s eyelids flutter, and he presses a soft kiss to your lips. You don’t want to move. And you don’t have to. He’s so soft. And good.

It's raining.

The sound of the water hitting the pavement, and the slow movement of Aradia’s body breathing under yours, lull you into the eye of the storm. It’s alright.

You’re okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey!!! three more chapters left after this! whoop dee do!!
> 
> its my woe and despair that i didnt get a chance for karkat to punch LE in the face (see!? no more character death look at tHAT im being KIND to you) but he DID get to use his magic if you squint!!! 
> 
> if you see any stuff you think i should tag for lemme know! i think i covered everything in body horror but i just wanna be good to you guys cause i love you!! <3 <3 <3
> 
> see yall on sunday most likely!


	32. EPISODE 31: finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you haven't read chapter 31/episode 30, go do so now! i updated it on thursday this week :)

You’re okay. 

Right?

 

* * *

 

“We gonna get out of bed today?” Dave asks you. 

It’s been two weeks, and you’re back in the capital city. 

Thankfully after the fight you were left out of legal proceedings. You were ‘allowed’ to recover in a breezy, sunny room and a comfortable bed with Dave. 

The sunny bed you relaxed in was in Jade’s house, of course. 

The birds were back in Skaia, chirping and fluttering and making a satisfyingly musical ruckuss outside. The sun was back, as well. The crystal was restored its own power upon the death of the Lordling, and then repaired by the Queen and Princess themselves. The mages of the city had enough on their hands, fixing the various damages in the city. 

The sun was back, the crystal's barrier around the city was once again keeping the weather stable and desirable, and there were dragons flying in the skies. It was almost too good to be true. 

Despite the once again beautiful conditions of the city, you stayed in that bed for almost a whole day and a half. 

While it was annoying that you were stuck in Skaia while they repaired the magic circle at Jade’s tower, you didn’t want to move much, and Dave didn’t want to move much either. Which was good, because you could barely walk, due to muscle damage. You had refused a full healing, needing to feel the soreness. It was cathartic. It feels better to recover on your own.

 _“Well, they didn’t have to amputate anything,”_ you had joked that first night, only deigning to become half-awake. Dave had laughed so hard he fell to the floor. It made something in you unclench, just a small amount.

That day, despite you not wanting to get up, you were visited by John. 

Rather, John gave himself some time off from his job to help transport people back to their homes, and then take care of you two while you rested. John was fine, by the way. 

Jade had been helped an incredible amount by Feferi, but was still bedridden and weak. She had suffered quite a lot of blood loss, a sprained neck, and had a crack in her skull before being healed. Despite the healing, Jade wasn't too capable of moving around on her own yet. Feferi said that it would take at least four days and nights for her to be fully recuperated. So John took care of her, too. 

It turns out that Jade had been trying to conduct a spell from inside her tower to protect the great crystal, and was found and captured by Lord English himself. The blood pool on the floor was hers, but she claimed it was a lot less than it looked. 

You found this out from her the one time you left that sunny bed. She didn’t blame you for not visiting more during the day, and announced out loud that she wouldn’t leave the bed either if she was in it all day with a lover. Dave turned beet red and smacked her shoulder, and you managed to keep your blush small. She laughed loudly, and assured you that she knew you were taking advantage of the time to rest.

Roxy popped in to help, as well. She hovered over Dirk ceaselessly, cleaned a lot of linens, brought up your meals and Aradia's fish, an almost always forgot to knock. Roxy fussed every time Dave sat up to accept food, even though he wasn't hurt anymore. At least not physically. He fended off her caring all too easily, and swatted away her forehead kisses. 

You could tell it made him happy, though. 

Aradia stuck to the room for the most part unless Dave requested she leave. She spent her hours coiled around the bed, resting half of her body on top of it with you two. Either that, or she piled herself up on the balcony. 

Her usual energy was surprisingly absent. 

Dirk spent the time in Skaia in the garden with Damara, trying to relax as well. With minimal success. She stayed very close with him the entire time. They were visible from the balcony, the few times you chose to get up and glance outside. It was easier for him to work than rest, Dave revealed to you, so he just repaired the automaton. It was back in working order by the time he left. Better than before, even. 

It took you quite a while to recover from the shock of having killed what was possibly your greatest enemy. It was odd to suddenly have almost nothing to fear, but definitely nothing to fear from him. Sure, you probably still have bitter enemies. But none with quite so much power. The shock is actually what made you want to lay down for that whole first day. 

It was so simple to just collapse into welcoming arms, and think everything out. 

It’s possible you came to terms with it. For the most part, at least. As much as you can in such a short period of time.

 

* * *

 

Dave’s arms circle your shoulders. You’ve woken up crying, again. 

You’re not sure why. 

Sitting up, and leaning into Dave, who’s still half asleep and trying to suss out the situation, you shudder. It’s something about an overwhelming amount of things happening at once. Or something. 

Dave’s hand slides in gentle ovals between your shoulder blades. A soft little song is trickling out from between his lips, and he’s laying tiny kisses on your brow. 

He’s here, he’s fine. You’re fine. 

It’s over. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs into your hairline.

 

* * *

 

Once you got back to Seahaven after those few days being stuck, not much happened. Things went mostly back to normal. Dirk and Dave, as well as their dragons, had been fully healed by the Princess. The healing had been labelled a reward for killing Lord English. It’s a little bit of a sour reward, in your opinion. But you’re already contracted to a full stipend. And the brothers hadn't wanted anything. 

There was crying from your mother, of course. Instead of collapsing this time, however, she ran to you across the field. Your mother’s arms had never been a more welcoming sight. She smelled so good, and homey. It was so very difficult not to just collapse there and let her take care of you. 

That day, before parting, Dirk had come up to you and thanked you. He said you helped him get the splinter of his soul back. You don’t want to know what that means. It feels like he’s saying something about magic. But it’s confusing. You don’t have any magic. Much less the kind that can piece together _people._ Even less, their _souls._

Once back home, and reunion had, you just went back to work. 

Dave spent a lot of time with Aradia, just hanging out at the forge. As if the second he let you out of his sight you would run off and do something dangerous. The sentiment was much appreciated, and made you smile. But of course your mother started acting the same way after she heard more of the story. 

She convinced Dave to start spending his nights with you, in your room at least. Just to keep an eye on you. 

It was easier not being alone, though.

And for the first time, the hovering actually felt good. It felt like caring. 

Dave still did his practices and forms. He didn’t relent from any of his normal activities. There was a perfect place right outside of the forge, after all, or so he claimed. In the shady place you had built for…

For Kankri. 

His death sunk in and took its real toll on you a few days after you got back. 

It was like losing him a third time. 

The fourth day after arriving home, you had to force yourself out of bed. It felt horrible. Again. It took three hours for you to get up, and it had to be Dave that came and pulled you to your feet. His hand in yours sparked you to grit your teeth and stand. Once you were standing, it wasn’t so bad. It was easier to move, then. 

Everything at home reminded you of Kankri. There were even a few scales swept onto a corner of the floor of the forge, you found while searching for a lost fastener. It was painful. You found that working was a good tonic. It seemed like your mother worked as a diversion, as well, and you checked each other to make sure that neither of you overworked. Dave helped with that. Aradia helped, as well, acting just as joyful as ever, though some of her words carried a sad, longing tone.

His memories are burned into your retinas.

 

* * *

 

The seventh day of being back, you think you dream of him. 

It’s just a warm presence, and you lean back on it. 

You’re on the edge of a grassy white sand dune, and the ocean before you is warm and just so aquamarine blue. The dappling light dances on your half-masted eyelids. 

A crab crawls over your foot.

“You know, I miss you already,” you’re murmuring. 

There’s a deep chuckle behind you. Hot wind runs smoothly over your face. The gentle touch of fingers soothes the furrow of your brow. 

_Yes, small one. I miss you as well._

You sigh. 

_But I’m gone now._

Huffing, put upon, you slap the ground with one hand. Close your eyes completely. 

“I know that, Kankri.”

 _He is proud of you, you know. As am I._

Another breath. Relaxed this time. You smell leather, lye soap, sweat. Fire and scales. 

“Yeah? You already said that, didn't you?”

_Yes, Karkat. Now go to sleep._

“Okay.”

_Always remember that I love you._

“Okay.”

 

* * *

 

Now, of course.

You’re back in the city. There’s to be a celebration in your name today. 

The Queen came to Seahaven herself to fetch you, and then left you at Jade’s tower again by your request. It’ll be quieter here, not in the palace. She nodded like she understood. And maybe she did. You’ve been finding a soft spot for your Queen, lately. Your mother’s absolute flabbergast when the royal monarch was at her door was priceless. She nearly passed out before managing to come to get you. 

Dave pokes you under the ribs. Sunlight plays beautifully over the planes of his back. It’s the morning of the second day that you’re back in Skaia. This evening, you, Dave, and Dirk will need to be at the palace for a refresher on the proceedings. 

At some point you’ll probably stress about the unnecessary pomp and circumstance of the Queen needing to make yet another political statement.

Yesterday, he asked if you wanted to get out of bed. The answer was a solid negative.

But for now, you roll over to press a kiss between Dave’s shoulder blades. He shivers, and muffles a small sound into his elbow. Aradia makes a grumpy noise from the balcony, obviously not wanting to move to give you privacy again. 

Sighing, you lay back down again. Dave is warm against your face, and you close your eyes. Several minutes pass like this.

“Hey, Karkat?” Dave asks, his face directed away from you, lain on the pillow in his crossed forearms. 

You hum, closing your eyes and letting yourself continue to rest on Dave’s back. Tracing circles on his skin, finding the barest white scars from practice. Finding Aradia’s hatchling teeth-marks. Finding your own nail marks from the night before. 

“Is… is it normal?” He asks, and you pause in your movements.

Something dark in his tone gets you to look up. Dave’s shoulders have tensed, and you can tell by the set of his jaw that he’s troubled. 

“What is it?” You ask, leaning back onto an elbow. Dave kind of shrugs, and buries his face in the pillow. It’s hard to make out the next few words, but it’s pretty quiet in the room. Aradia has one careful eye open toward you when you glance at her for any help . 

“Is it normal to feel guilty for what… for what we did? For killing him?” He asks. 

It wrenches harshly on something inside of you. 

How long has he been dealing with this idea alone?

Dave has Aradia, but maybe she doesn’t fully understand? She likes death to a degree, you know that. Dirk doesn’t seem to be troubled by it. Though, you have seen him spending long hours with Roxy, lately. 

You’ve gotten so desensitized to… killing… that the act in particular didn’t affect you as much.

You forgot that he hadn’t been through it, yet. 

You’re so selfish.

Dave relaxes into your touch as he rolls over, facing you. He wraps both of his legs around yours, clasping them loosely on your left thigh. 

He’s - he’s been thinking about this for days and days. 

“Dave,” you murmur, gentle. His eyes slam shut. 

How do you help him with this? The only thing you can really do is throw solutions at the wall and hope that one of them will stick. That’s not good enough, though. Why aren’t you more equipped to help him deal with an idea that you pondered for months over?

“It’s the most normal thing, Dave,” you say to him, and he flinches. 

A very small wave of revulsion courses through you at the notion that you caused that, but you push it down. And you push your lips into his forehead. Dave scoffs, sniffles. 

“It’s alright to feel guilt. It’s normal to feel guilt. And it doesn’t ever fully go away, for some people,” you soothe. He scoffs again. This time, though, it's a little softer. 

You suck in a breath, and massage the back of his neck with the fingers of your left hand. “I remember the first time I killed another sentient being, Dave. A person. I still remember how it felt,” you tell him, with no small amount of trepidation. A spark inside you still insists that he’ll hate you for it. But he won’t, you know he won’t. _He won’t fear me,_ you tell your brain. _He won’t hate me._

“You do?” Dave whispers. He’s so vulnerable right now. His brows are jagged in the center, unsure. Tilted upwards in something like agony. 

This vulnerable him, this him that lets you comfort, this him that lets you be there for him, is one of the most addicting versions. Even if it’s at his own expense. It aches.

In comforting him about killing Lord English, though, the last bit of conflict you had within yourself breaks away. The last bit of conflict about if whether what you did was right, at least. And as you speak, ironing out the wrinkles between his eyes, you smooth the furrows in your own conscience. 

“Yes. It feels monstrous. It feels wrong, and sick,” you continue. Dave barely nods. His shoulders are shaking. Like all this pent up energy is frozen within him.

“That feeling will get better with time,” you murmur into the pillow. “Trust me.”

“It’s feeling these things that make you not a monster,” you tell him. He’s still not looking at you, but his shoulders have stopped shaking. “Even if it doesn’t entirely go away. It will get better.”

“I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear it,” you finish. Another kiss to the center of his brow.

Dave relaxes, after that. 

Your fingertips trace careful circles on his back and neck. 

His muscles gradually lose their tension, and he ends up leaned into you. 

His breath blows very gently on your chest, and he dozes without saying anything. Just like Aradia, hanging over the edges of the balcony. You don’t snooze at all. It’s much better to stay awake, and watch the slowly melting planes of his face. Dave is thinking when he's not drifting, but your words seem to have helped. 

He will not think through this alone. It’s difficult to deal with. But he will manage. And you will hold him up.

Maybe half an hour passes, of slow and quiet breathing. The body against yours is so relaxed. He pulls into you, nuzzles your collarbone, soft and sweet.

“Would you like to bathe before this afternoon?” You ask slowly. “Jade has some lovely-smelling oils. And we will probably want to clean up for the Queen tonight, anyway.”

Dave waits a minute for it to sink in, rousing from his light sleep. There’s a choice warring on his face. Does he want to stay here, and think some more? Does he want to get up?

A decision is obviously made when he groans, muzzily nosing at the line of your throat.

“Right. We have to do that,” he complains. You sit up, pulling on him to go with you. Scooting to the edge of the bed, you watch his face screw up very gradually into a smile at your insistent tugs. Dave slaps your hand away at some point and sits himself up as well. 

“Come on, help me to the tub,” you tell him. 

And he snorts. “Wow. The last time I helped you to the bath, you were still a grumpy old man at heart,” he says, even as he stands and slouches down to offer you a shoulder. 

It’s tempting to knee him in the groin out of ‘clumsiness’ but you opt for a joke instead. 

“I’m still a gumpy old man at heart, Strider,” you say. And he snorts again. 

“You’re so right. But,” he says, as he hoists you up to his shoulder and run his other hand down to grip your naked waist. “You’re my _very handsome_ old man.”

You laugh, this time, and hop lightly as he takes you both across the room. 

The rope is pulled, the Doll comes up to pour the water, and you sit on the side of the (much larger than the last one, surprisingly) tub and pour in some scented oil and salt. Dave walks around to grab the towels for when you get out.

The water is so warm and disarmingly relaxing when the both of you finally sink into it. Dave sits behind you, and you lean back into his arms. His breath crosses your neck, and his hands trace the lines of your scars, this time. He takes a cloth and washes your chest and your spine, your legs down to the thighs, your neck and shoulders. 

When it’s your turn to do the same, you start by turning around, and laying a lingering morning kiss on his lips.

 

* * *

 

For the parade you’re put on a black horse, somewhere near the center of a positively massive group of soldiers. 

The situational irony doesn’t escape you. 

Dave and Dirk have been assigned to riding Aradia and Damara by your sides. Because of the rather showy aspect of it all, they were going to be relegated to riding behind you, instead. But they had just as much, if not more influence on the outcome of the fight than you did. You wouldn’t budge on them riding as your equals, even when they wanted to defer to the Queen. 

Dave tried to placate you, while Dirk and advisors alike sent worried glances around the room.

And the Queen laughed out loud, slapped her hand on the strategy table in the tactical chamber, and essentially said that you could do what you wanted. 

After all, it’s your face that will be hailed as the face of the one who slew the Great Destroyer, Defiler of The Grand Treatise. 

It’s honestly a terrifying thought, to a degree. To be lauded for such a thing.

The Queen says that it’s all been taken care of, and the other empire hails you as well because of Lord English being wildly unpopular for various reasons. 

Various reasons including, but not limited to, starting the war, not taking any steps to improve the economy after the war, overtaxing, and then ‘just generally not buoying a very great guy’. That last one was a quote from the Queen herself. She also claims that in being in meetings with the late Emporer’s sister, she has managed to forge a very pleasant alliance. They’ll apparently be receiving a loan from the Queen herself that will help them get a better start. This time. 

It doesn’t mean that you’re not still afraid of radicals and assassination attempts. There’s insistence from several different sides that you’ll be painted in a better light, now. And that even those bitter nobles will have better opinions of you once the propaganda is out. The **“He Killed the Man who ACTUALLY Caused the Death of your _SONS and DAUGHTERS_ , to Atone for his _SINS”_** propaganda.

Dave looked so angry when that proposal came forward. He almost shouted at Makara senior for suggesting it. 

But it was frankly the best option. 

And you did. You atoned for getting them killed. 

There were a few long hours spent in a dark bed, Dave attempting to convince you that you’d had nothing to make up for, primarily with his thumbs caressing your face and neck. It’s not something you’re particularly inclined to believe. Not all the way. Dave settled, though. Because now you’re done. You’ve counted and paid your debt to the world for keeping you alive.

It’s not something that’s going to change anytime soon. 

“Beautiful parade,” Dirk comments blithely. Damara seems as bored as Dirk’s tone, and she tosses her head. 

It _is_ a very beautiful parade. White, yellow, and pink lights dance as the metals on the clothes of the people in the procession catch the sun. All in attendance are robed in a myriad of colors, with white and gold as the theme. Dave and Dirk have been dressed in their ceremonial garb, which was simple for them. They already look the part, and didn’t have to go to three different fittings yesterday. _And_ they were allowed their visors. 

The soldiers are in mostly white, with gold accents and decorative swords. Confetti is falling from the air, the streets are hung with shining glass and gold, and the road is almost paved with the copper offerings from the people. The copper offerings are intended for you, you’ve been told. 

There are also flowers thrown in your direction. Flower petals are dropped from windows and rooftops and float down on the wind. You’ve received a roomful of gifts already today, a courier bringing them from where the people have been told that you’re staying, at the palace. It’s safe to say that you’ll be stocked on wine, sausage, and cheese for a good long while. There are also a myriad of different pastries, a litany of fanciful items and fabrics, and the top jeweler made you a… gold… diadem? 

It's something that you might request be kept in a vault at the palace.

Despite all the white and gold, you’ve been allowed to wear black. Again, the irony doesn’t escape you.

A great music is playing, coming from both the front and back of the procession. Drums, horns, bells, gongs, it’s actually quite lovely. 

The music makes it feel heroic. 

Dave makes a noise in reply to what Dirk said. Dirk most likely doesn’t hear it, but relaxes back into his saddle with a out-upon sigh. 

The procession is moving fairly slowly, due to the sheer length of it. The sun isn’t too hot, even with the clothes that you’ve chosen to wear. The Queen approved when she showed up to the fitting, so you’re in something the color of pitch, with a lot of velvet. The robes look lovely with the filigreed shin plate. 

Your mother is here, as well as all three of the Lalondes, and the Earl of Egbert. They’ve been given more ceremonial positions further back in the parade. Not that this all isn’t ceremonial. But the Lalondes and your mother are riding in a palanquin, and apparently it’s very comfortable. The Earl is riding on a horse like yours, next to his son, who is riding Equius. 

Blah blah blah. 

“How do they just… change their minds like this?” You ask, aloud, as yet another cheering person tosses a bouquet at you. “They hated me for so long.” 

Dirk snorts.

“Everyone loves a party,” he says. 

“People are fickle like that,” Dave sticks onto the end of his brother’s statement. 

You roll your shoulders, and stare straight ahead. 

The brothers are very obviously used to being at the center of attention. They are used to being a spectacle. You wish you had a visor right now, instead of this flimsy diadem. At least you’d be able to shield your eyes from the people.

“I’ve never felt like I really deserved celebration,” you say. “Yet now some part of me is bitterly wondering why it didn’t happen all along. Even if I hate this chaos.”

When you look to Dave, he’s giving you a dry little smile. 

“You deserve it now, according to the Queen, and that’s what goes here, right?” he says. Like it solves your dilemma. “You can’t change everything yourself. And like I said before. People are fickle.”

Frustrated, you try not to frown too deeply as you look forward once more. There are even more worried words caught on the tip of your tongue, and you choose to swallow them down. 

Dave reaches over to squeeze your hand, briefly, and that fleeting touch calms you enough to get the crease from between your eyes. 

When you finally get to the end of the long walk, a row of officials fans out behind the Queen. She’s dressed all in white, like the day you were given your formal promotion. She is standing at the top of the palace’s front stairs, waiting for you. The net of yellow diamonds in her hair really does look like a halo, out here in the sun.

The last time you stood here, you killed her greatest enemy for her.

Trying to remember all the details of the plan, you dismount. Dave and Dirk do, as well, but Aradia and Damara come up the steps with you. You know your family and friends will be standing behind you, aside from Jade, who is dressed in robes that cover every inch of her skin that could be showing. Feferi is clothed the same way, and both have their hands folded in a strange position before their chests. 

Next to the Queen stands the new Empress Calliope, who is opposite her brother in appearance. Shorter, though still painfully skinny, her face is pleasantly rounded, and she has voluptuous hair tied up in a careful bun. Her dress is a bold green, a shocking contrast to all of the surrounding white. As the flower petals follow the five of you up the stairs, she catches your eye. 

The spiraling ceremonial tattoos on her face flash by their own light.

Immediately you’re uncomfortable. It was her _brother_ you—

She nods. It takes you so off guard that you almost miss a step, but manage to only catch your foot on the very edge. 

And you’re stopped. The fanfare reaches a deafening peak, and then everything goes silent. When the Queen speaks, her voice booms louder than you’ve ever heard it. 

“Colonel Karkat Vantas, brothers Strider,” she says, and you, Dave, and Dirk kneel. The masses of people cheer, and she waits for them to go silent. “You three deserve many accolades for your bravery in battle.”

Calliope holds up her hands. Cradled between them is a small, plain box, of which she removes the lid. Inside the box are three gleaming discs. The metal is almost ethereal in its gold, shining strangely and intricately etched. 

“But I can only give you this,” The Queen continues. The crowd hushes completely. The flower petals cease falling, and even the horses are keeping still. 

“Medals crafted from the re-purposed gold that once made up my brother’s right leg,” Calliope says, more softly than the queen. But still firm and proud. “As a token of his defeat at your hands.”

A needle could be heard dropping as you lean your head forward. Calliope moves to hold the box out to the Queen. And the Queen takes the first medal into her hand. The metal must have been disenchanted, then. They bear no dark energy, no sickening magic or ill intent. The Queen walks forward, toward Dirk. 

“A token of your cleverness in battle,” she says. The rope is slid around his head, on top of his stole. The medal clangs against his rider medallion. It’s difficult to see the design on it, keeping your head down to receive your reward. 

The Queen moves on to Dave. “A token of your strength,” she says, and the rope weighs down on his shoulders. 

Finally, she gets to you. “And now, a token of your bravery, and leadership,” she says. It almost echoes in the courtyard, and as she slips the rope around your neck, her fingertips touch the collar of your shirt. 

It’s almost a mockery of the way that the blades kissed your neck, the last time she was this close to you. You're back on that white carpet, kneeling to receive your promotion. It serves as a reminder that you are at her mercy. But it also sends you the message that you have nothing to fear, from her. 

As if you believe it. 

However wise that may be.

But when you look up, into her eyes, and stand straight to your feet, she’s smirking at you. The master of ceremony told you not to hold her gaze for too long. You stare at her. You’re evenly matched in wit, you and the Queen.

You were told to accept the award, and leave the stage the way you came.

Subservient, a dutiful citizen despite your heroicism. For the Queen. 

As she makes her political moves, so you make yours. 

“There will be a monument in your honor,” The Queen’s voice booms. Enchanted. Showy. “And you will never want for anything I could provide.” 

Dave grabs your hand and squeezes as you turn around. As you stand to your feet, you raise a fist, and jerk it back. You clench it by your hip in a clear salute. 

By your own right, you did this. By your right, you will take credit. And by your right, you will not have another thing taken from you. Not by her. Not to receive a better title. Not for her approval, or anyone else's. 

There's a note of pride in your monarch's voice.

“For you are true Heroes,” the Queen says, behind you. “In name, and also in deed.”

And that… is all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well um. it's been a good, long run. all i got left is the epilogue to post up! 
> 
> sometimes it didn't feel worth the effort to write this, but you guys made it so. i wouldn't have finished it were it not for my readers. each and every one of you. you're amazing. <3 ill gush more next weekend, sorry bout that, cant help myself :) 
> 
> **if you would like to see anything resolved or expanded upon in particular** , maybe mentioned in the epilogue or a drabble written, let me know! i love sharing shit about this little world i made, and i wanna know what you guys would like to see! 
> 
> all in all, i love yall and i hope you have a great week!


	33. EPILOGUE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's on the box

It has been three long years since you killed Lord English. 

There have been no more attempts on your life. It seems like the Queen’s propaganda strategy worked, of all things. The pile of gifts you’d had to lug home after the ceremony was evidence enough that they’d heard her. But the time, to get here? With no more danger? It shows miles more. 

Upon arriving home, you set about crafting a proper gravestone for Kankri. 

His burial site on top of that high hill was so quiet. 

The rushing of grass and the wide bloom of flowers around the rock mound made you cry. Dave picked you up, with some difficulty, and carried you home. 

You can sleep through the night, now. Almost eighteen full moons have passed since the last time you woke up terrified in the night. Part of that is due to the very real fact that Dave now spends nearly every night in your arms. 

You built Dave and yourself a house to live in last year. It’s hard to dream horrible dreams when Dave’s warm body is curled around yours. Dirk, Rose, Roxy, John, and even Jade (for a few hours) helped the two of you build the thing. The main structure was done within days, and it’s just a plain home with large, sturdy walls. 

The home is halfway between your mother’s house and the Lalonde mansion. It sits near the cliffside, enchanted at the foundation to resist storms and fixed with a double door on the side of it so that Aradia may come and go as she wishes. It’s a comfy thing, with three rooms and a closed walkway to the outhouse. There’s a large front room for Aradia that opens out onto the cliff face, and Dirk visits entirely too often. You think it’s because he’s lonely. He claims he just likes annoying you.

You discovered something else shortly after completing the house. It becomes apparent that you need to regularly visit someone for muscle repair on your leg. Luckily, you know a very good healer in the Princess, and she agrees to do it for you. Turns out that after a while of using a hard prosthetic leg, enough tissue damage can happen to need a second amputation. It doesn’t happen to everyone, according to the Princess. But with magic, it’s an easy fix.

It gets lonely in the house when Dave’s out doing his races. 

Mother has kept her home open to you to stay in whenever Dave is out, so you do that. It’s closer to the forge, anyway, where you still work. It’s a family business, now, after all. You’ve been getting quite good. Every time he leaves, she says you’ll work yourself to the bone. And every time, you do.

Several months after you got back to Seahaven, Dirk and Dave got the urge to retry their combat abilities. It didn’t end up well.

Dirk killed an innocent animal by accident, leaving her cubs alone when his blade took her soul from her. Dirk refused to use the powers again, maintaining that they were too strong to control. Dave agreed.

They don’t need them anyway. Neither of them will be in battle anytime soon.

And now Dirk has two little foxes that follow him everywhere.

Dave proposes to you in the cave, as a newly moved in species of luminous moths flutter about you. 

It’s ridiculously convenient, how smoothly your life seems to be going. A few times, you question it. How could there be so much prosperity, when you’ve never had it before? The marriage is more of a symbol than anything, but to feel the engagement ring in your ear, tapping against the shell of it when you bend over… it’s an amazing feeling for you. It’s not for everyone. 

You’ll be married to him come next spring, when he gets back from his upcoming race tour. There will be lots of food, and wine, and joy. And dancing. Which Dave is getting much better at, to be honest. He’s agreed to include the wedding dance from your hometown. Dirk will have to practice it with him, like the one before. But he only jabbed at him for it a little bit. 

John and Roxy have a child on the way. Rose says it will be a girl. John is at home all the time, now, fretting and worrying about his wife. She’s absolutely huge, and takes every opportunity to point it out and slap peoples’ hands on her swollen stomach. The two live at the Egbert estate now, since John is still due to inherit. John ends up staying in your guest room a few times when he hovers too much and gets ousted.

Equius acts oddly around Roxy, crooning at her belly amidst her giggles, and fretting about just like John. It’s a little strange, but you don’t question it. 

He also gets… very chummy with Aradia, too. Aradia accepts it. The two of them play, racing around the canyon and playing some sort of game of tag. It’s gotten a few shopkeepers riled up, especially Jane as they like to sail through her restaurant and knock over chairs. Damara watches lazily as they zip around. You think she might be amused, but you’re not sure. She definitely laughs when Equius emerges from the ocean with a shark in his jaws, for Aradia, and Aradia smacks it away with her tail.

Dave laughs at first, at their antics, saying something at some point about Equius flirting too hard. And he hopes that they _‘won’t produce a clutch, because what hell that would be. Slippery little assholes wandering around, if they even hatch right away.’_

It’s jokingly spoken of. 

At first. After a few weeks of their nonsense Dave very obviously throws his hands up, and makes loud frustrated noises. 

Light above. 

The hatchlings _would_ be awful. Incorrigible. Dave and Roxy would spoil them rotten.

You often visit the orphanage, but not near as much. M has grown a lot these three years. He can and does do everything on his own now, with the horse and grounds-keeping. A few words even escaped his lips a few weeks ago. They were stuttered, a little creaky and broken, but he’d obviously practiced them. And he used those words to thank you. 

You asked him once if he’d like to be an architect, like his parents were. He shook his head, and smiled while patting the horse.

Jade was transferred over as a magical delegate to Calliope’s kingdom. She visits less often because of it, but has been doing wonders for the people there. There are a few letters she sends to Dave, and in them she describes what a wonderful hostess ‘Callie’ is, and how she’s nearly turned the whole place around. 

Sollux has come to visit several times. The first time he stepped onto your porch, it was… tense. Dave shook his hand, though, just like that first time. The man winced at the firm grip, but shook his hand back. And you wrapped him in a hug. After that visit, though, things were much easier. He’s settled more into being a friend again, even if you might never be as close as you were before. It’s a relief. 

One of the visits, he brought his youngest, who was very fascinated with the dragons. 

“Maybe he could be a rider,” you say, half joking. The child is well over three years now, and holds onto Damara’s horns as she gently sways him back and forth. She’s oddly patient with the child. 

Sollux simply smiles at you, still a little weakly. He is so happy with his children.

A few times, you’ve gone with Dave on a portion of his race travels. Assured by your mother that she would be fine working alone, you got to see different places. There was a city in the mountains where it was always snowing. There was a beach where the water was a bright, crystalline blue, and the sands shone pink with the coal refuse in the sun. In one town, a pack of dogs eagerly followed you wherever you went. 

In each town, Dave met some of his fans. In each town, he shooed them away after a bit, to favor you. In each town, you sampled good food, and visited their cathedral or place of worship. Even though you’re not religious, you still haven’t grown out of your fondness for the careful levels of noise. 

It’s hard to notice until Dirk mentions it to you, but the villagers seem readily accustomed to your presence. It took a while for the news of your good deeds to reach the town. However, they accept it in the strangest way. Many times in the past few years, your fellow townsfolk have come up to you on separate occasions and assured you that they knew your solidity of heart before ‘all that mess’. The shopkeepers are treating you more kindly, the chapel goers say hello to you as you pass the great doors, and even random citizens will give you a nod. 

It was something you hadn’t gotten before. Yes, in the year before you slayed their greatest enemy, people had stopped looking at you as if you were an outsider. But lately? The gestures that you have seen them giving each other are something that’s privy to you, now. 

It takes a while to get used to. Trusted as a local? It’s hard to be bitter about it, to any degree.

Terezi came to stay in Seahaven, permanently, claiming that she needs the solace and quiet to try and work up enough speed endurance to be a solo racer. Racing is all she has, after all. She actually comes down a few weeks after the parade and just parks herself down, taking Dave’s vacated loft in the Roost. Her partner, Vriska, has yet to make a reappearance. At some point, Terezi says something about getting letters from her, and that she says she is fine. But that she cannot come home. And that she’s sorry to everyone. You have no idea what that means. 

She and Latula train and race with the brothers around the canyon. The group of you, including John and Roxy and Rose, spend some time together. 

And you… are at peace inside.

It’s a shakey peace, sure.

But when Dave gently peels off your leg, and pushes you down into the bed after a long day, with the softest of kisses, you wrap around him and sigh. The two scarlet-patina engagement earrings clink together as he whispers the most delicate words into your neck. 

You eat at Jane’s, you whittle a tiny dragon figure for Roxy and John’s child, you make no weapons and you repair wagons and hinges and tools, you make chains for boats and throw roasted sweetfish for Aradia. You sit on the stable portion of the cliffside, and watch her descend toward the water for her dinner. 

There’s a subtle silence in the way life comes and goes. 

Things change here, in the village. They change and fluxuate, in briefly undulating patterns. The festivals never change, the scenery never changes, and the people stay the same. But like the tide, it ebbs and flows. 

And as you sit on that cliff, listening to the grass move and the seas drift, you’re at your peace.

Things could definitely be worse.

And you’re happy.

 

* * *

 

 

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Art credit, in order from first on the page to last: Ellia-no, [bigbadsharkdad](http://almost-a-dog.tumblr.com/), [Wanderingdragon (two)](http://helpimalostandconfusedartist.tumblr.com/post/146683927637/so-after-getting-an-in-depth-description-from-the), [ellia-no (two)](), [poyitjdr](http://poyitjdr.tumblr.com/tagged/my-art), [kaarkles](http://kaarkles.tumblr.com/tagged/art), [poyitjdr](http://poyitjdr.tumblr.com/post/142561404289/have-a-karkat-inspired-by-the-fic-in-name-and-in)

That’s the fanart I got for this fic!!! If you do art for it, I would love to see it, and reblog it, and put it in if you want!! 

[The](http://royalrastafariannaynays.tumblr.com/post/145317306485/dave-from-my-fic-in-name-and-in-deed-in-his) [rest](http://royalrastafariannaynays.tumblr.com/post/141685283760/drew-some-of-daves-outfits-from-my-fic-in-name) [are](http://royalrastafariannaynays.tumblr.com/post/147557207455/sorry-for-my-bad-handwriting-and-shit-but-i-wanted) done by me!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Hey! I hope everyone enjoyed the final final chapter! I put up two more sidefics!**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **There’s a[Kankri POV sidefic about karkat’s father](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7831048), and a [ Dirk POV ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7800394) sidefic about how he uses his soul powers and some other stuff!!!!! **
> 
> Posts about worldbuilding and my headcanons for this world! 
> 
> [Some stuff about sexuality](http://royalrastafariannaynays.tumblr.com/post/144073877860/because-i-feel-like-i-should-put-it-in-as-official) in this world, [Outfit references](http://royalrastafariannaynays.tumblr.com/post/144029836160/outfit-references-for-my-fic-in-name-and-in-deed), [Dragon zoology](http://royalrastafariannaynays.tumblr.com/post/146573483450/in-name-and-in-deed-notes-2), a [Timeline For The Fic](http://royalrastafariannaynays.tumblr.com/post/148944580485/timeline-for-inaid), my [Magic Headcanons](http://royalrastafariannaynays.tumblr.com/post/149150260440/magic-in-inaid), and [some cool title and character info](http://royalrastafariannaynays.tumblr.com/post/146387763005/in-name-and-in-deed-stuff-1)!!!!!!
> 
>  
> 
> **But yeah! That’s it! I love you all, and I hope you had a good ride like I did!**
> 
>  
> 
> **You all are the best. And I hope you find your success and happiness, and overcome your odds. You can do it! And you’re capable of anything. I believe in you.**

**Author's Note:**

> [Here](http://royalrastafariannaynays.tumblr.com/) is a link to my blog if you want to see updates or talk to me about my fics!


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